


The Gray of Perfection

by SunlitGarden



Series: Pink Perfection [2]
Category: Dismissed (2017), Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Control Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, F/M, Jealousy, Mommy Issues, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Southside Serpent Jughead Jones, Vaginal Sex, Violence, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-06-27 03:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 109,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlitGarden/pseuds/SunlitGarden
Summary: Archie Andrews is convinced that Betty's new boyfriend Lucas Ward is a threat to her safety and everyone else's. He turns to their old friend and gang member Jughead Jones to help uncover what's behind that Prince Charming facade Betty's been entranced by. Meanwhile, Betty struggles with everyone trying to make her decisions for her, manipulate her into conforming into some girl-next-door stereotype. Sometimes it feels like she's not even allowed to be herself anymore. But Lucas is such a loving boyfriend, so insightful to her every need and everyone else's manipulations that she can't help but try to please him. How is she supposed to throw off Prince Charming for a Serpent Prince?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The prior work in this series isn't required reading, but it does provide more insight if you're into that kinda thing. Let the madness begin!

Contentment sits deeply in Lucas’s chest. It hasn’t been long since homecoming and he’s still riding the high of being recognized school-wide for his accomplishments. Not that _Betty_ is an accomplishment, of course…but maintaining the perfect relationship is. It’s one he never bothered thinking about until he came to Riverdale. Betty’s been fluctuating between beaming and spacing out the last few days, but right now she seems bright enough.

The large, genial proprietor of the establishment approaches their booth. Lucas tries to feign ignorance of the greasy smell that lingers on the man. “Betty! Lucas! What can I get for you today?”

“Hi Pop! May I have a cheeseburger, fries, and a strawberry shake?” Betty asks pleasantly. That’s a lot of sugar and fat. Betty must register his subtle reaction, because she sinks further into the booth, her sunny disposition dimmed.

“And for you sir?”

“I will have the grilled Tuscan chicken sandwich, no mayo, please,” Lucas says primly, handing over their menus.

“No milkshake for you?”

Although he’s often shared a chocolate milkshake with Betty when they come here, it’s really more for appearances than enjoyment of the sugary drink. It feels so classic, retro, to share a milkshake with his best girl after a movie. This is just a Sunday lunch. “No,” he answers firmly, but politely.

“All right. I’ll be right back,” Pop winks, of course a little extra affection for Betty. She’s everyone’s _darling_ , but only Lucas’s in every other sense of the word. They’ve been playing with markings lately, and the backs of her thighs may still be red from the last time they played together. The thought makes him salivate more than usual, and it has nothing to do with the smell of cooking meat.

Betty swishes her hand within her ponytail a little anxiously, and he wonders if she’s still worrying about Archie.

“He’ll be fine, Betty.” His ability to read her catches her off guard. “You can’t keep worrying about him.”

“I know, it’s just…I’m used to seeing him. We’ve been next door neighbors our whole lives, and now I barely see him. It’s like he’s avoiding me ever since…” Her big green eyes flicker up hesitantly, but Lucas isn’t embarrassed.

“Ever since homecoming?” She means to insinuate his strong words with Archie have kept them apart, but he takes another route. “I’m guessing he’s still a little embarrassed about his set. Having to re-tune mid-song? Terrible.”

Big-eyed and serious, she focuses in on him. “What were you guys talking about before? He made it sound like you attacked him.”

He knows _Archie’s_ told his own side of things, and secretly holds a little glee in his heart that she doesn’t fully trust her childhood friend. “I hate to bring this up, Betty, but…Archie’s been trying to break us up for a while now.”

“What?” she squints almost like the sun’s in her eyes.

“I don’t know why. Maybe I intimidate him. I didn’t want to bring it up because he’s one of your closest friends, but Archie’s never really _approved_ of me and does his best to take subtle jabs when you’re not around.”

“Archie doesn’t—why would he?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Betty? Because he likes you.” Lucas’s hand falls easily on Betty’s, and with some amount of satisfaction he watches her straighten in almost-disgust at the idea of Archie sabotaging her relationship, or being interested in her at all.

“What? No. Archie wouldn’t—“

“Please, Betty. The guy has been watching you through your window since you were kids. Whenever we had a fight, I’m guessing he was all-too-eager to point out any of my flaws.”

“Yeah but...why would he lie to me? Why would he threaten you, knowing that you mean so much to me? He’s like my brother,” she says softly, still frowning, not fully falling into the conclusion he’s laying out for her.

“But he wasn’t always, right? I’m guessing when you two came back from summer vacation there might have been a…will-they-or-won’t-they vibe?” Her diary insinuates as much. “But then I came into the picture and his fantasies of the girl-next-door got sidelined. We fell in love,” he reminds her, massaging her hand, purposely smoothing over their promise ring. “When I saw him put his arms around you at the dance, I had to step in. I may have gotten a little too possessive, but I just can’t stand to see him try and manipulate you into having feelings for him. And now he’s probably trying to sabotage us by exaggerating anything I said.”

Betty bites her lip, clearly torn. “You wouldn’t hurt him, though, would you?”

There’s only a moment of composed consternation between them before he answers. “Of course not. I would never hurt anyone you cared about, not unless they tried to hurt you first.”

Pop stops by with their food, so they unlink their hands long enough to get to eating. Although Betty’s greasy cheeseburger makes him queasy (food is supposed to be _fuel_ ), she holds her pinkies up while she eats. It’s absolutely charming. If only she’d listen to her mother and him about the right kinds of foods to eat. He can probably get her there in a few simple moves…just like chess.

“You might want to cut that in half. You know, save it for later.”

“Oh. I thought…I’d eat all of it now.”

“Really? You’re that hungry? They say our stomachs are only the size of our fists, but…hey. If my girl’s hungry enough for a few stomachs worth of cheeseburger, fries, _and_ a milkshake, I guess we’ll have to work it off later,” he winks, purposely keeping the conversation light. But he sees the way she hovers before she takes another bite. Satisfied, he smiles to himself as he cuts his sandwich in half.

In the end, she leaves about half of her meal unfinished, looking grimly at her plate before excusing herself to the restroom.

“Take your time,” he offers, which strikes him as an odd thing to say—even for him. He certainly doesn’t want to encourage purging. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Satisfied, he motions Pop for the bill. Betty usually offers to pay her way, but he’s been in such a good mood that he doesn’t mind having his dad pay for a meal or date here or there. The thunder of motor vehicles disrupts his train of thought. Lucas glares out the window to be greeted by the sight of a couple ruffians pulling up into the parking lot. Leather jackets with the snake insignia. _Serpents_ , he remembers from one of many conversations with Mrs. Cooper. He watches the four come in, surprised that they don’t look tougher. The boys are tall but lean, only one of them looking like he’s been in his share of scraps, anger and distrust lurking in his gaze when he sweeps the diner for what Lucas presumes are challengers. A girl with pink-tipped caramel hair who looks like she weighs maybe 100 pounds soaking wet walks close behind with a passive-looking guy with a partial buzz cut and too much gel. The last _Serpent_ looks absolutely ridiculous with a knit beanie cap on as if he’s thirteen years old again. They must be young members, maybe from that infamous Southside High he hears so much about in the Register. Honestly they look like a bunch of _Grease_ rejects. Well he hopes they get their fill of Pop’s greasy burgers. Even the proprietor doesn’t seem too upset about their arrival.

“Pop? Containers, to go?” Lucas motions, making his way to the counter. The gang glares at his movement, as if they’re the reason he’s leaving. He’s not even remotely scared of them, and stares back for a few seconds longer than necessary before thanking Pop and scooping the remainders of their date into recyclable containers.

Gang banter might be good for an article, so he casually eavesdrops, increasingly irritated at the lack of intelligent things they have to say. He shouldn’t be surprised. They keep boasting about beating each other’s high score on some arcade game. Some _gangsters_ these are.

Betty emerges looking pale but otherwise perfect, smiling and thanking Lucas for the meal.

“My pleasure,” Lucas preens, briefly kissing her on the mouth. “Let’s drop these off at your house before heading on to the library.”

Nodding, she takes his hand and follows him out the diner. He spares one last glance at the Serpents, determined to show them that _yes, he is classier than them,_ when he notes the one in the beanie cap is the only one with something other than angry resentfulness on his face. He’s _flushed_ , taken off guard. Well. Lucas supposes there’s a first time for everything, and squeezes Betty’s hand a little tighter before starting up the car and pulling away.

“Did you see the Serpents in there?” he scoffs. “I know Riverdale is tame, but I expected something a little more impressive than that.”

“Serpents? At Pop’s?” She spins in her seat, looking over her shoulder. “You don’t think they were trying to sell drugs or anything, do you?”

Chuckling, Lucas shakes his head. “They seemed even more harmless than the T-birds. Young members, by the looks of it.”

“That’s so sad.” It still takes him aback sometimes, the way Betty inevitably empathizes at the injustice of it all. Socioeconomic issues, political issues, all of it. Makes him wonder if she really has the stomach for all of his plans. That anger, that violence in her still lurks just beneath the surface, but it remains to be seen how much she’ll embrace it outside of the bedroom. She’s the best investigator and editor around…not to mention the _perfect—_

He pauses, sifting through his extensive vocabulary the right words. Student? Girlfriend? Partner? He’ll keep searching. They have time.

 

* * *

 

It’s not like he’s _surprised_ she didn’t notice him. Jughead’s always had the uncanny ability to fade into the peripheral. It came in handy when the Bulldogs were looking for someone to slam into lockers, and maybe it stung a little when he was eclipsed by Betty and Archie. But Jughead’s used to being _seen_ now.

Ever since he transferred to Southside High his life has been different… _better_. The school itself is terrible, of course. They barely have working drinking fountains, and the teachers care even less than the students. Gangs run everything, but thankfully the Serpents rule more than the potentially cannibalistic Ghoulies. Joining the Serpents was a method of survival. It protected him. Being FP’s son, they welcomed him with open arms…the first time he’s ever really felt like he _belonged_ to somebody since Archie and Betty when they were kids. The Serpents only half-joke that he's _the_ _Serpent Prince_.

Whomever Betty was with looked more like Prince Charming. Preppy, smart, shrewd, whatever. It’s like Alice Cooper hand-picked him from a catalogue. When Jughead saw her emerge from the bathroom, eyes slightly watery, half her meal to go, he wondered if she was sick. Betty only skimped on meals when Alice was being her typical overbearing self. But then the guy kissed her like it was nothing, grabbed her hand and led her out, glaring at Jughead’s friends like he _knew_ they were unworthy of something as simple as that kind of happiness.

Fangs focused more on the guy’s nice car, the way he’s dressed. Sweet Pea of course complained about the north-side attitude. Toni made a comment “you’re just jealous he hangs out with a cute blonde,” although Jug detected some underlying resentment there as well. Swallowing his shame, Jughead resolved not to mention his former association. Betty probably wouldn’t even remember him anyway…and with her mom’s crusade against the south side, reintroducing himself as a Serpent would only bring them trouble.

Still, it would’ve been nice to say hello.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, when Lucas kisses her goodbye just before class, Betty feels like she gets a glimpse of what it’s like to really be _loved_. He winks at her, hands leaving her body, warmth lingering behind. Then he’s off with his satchel, already looking like an intern or college student before disappearing into class.

In some ways it feels like he’s kissing her goodbye before heading off to work. The thought…doesn’t quite warm her the way she’s always thought it would. She feels…left behind. Her parents have been heavily hinting that Lucas should come back and work for the Register after college because they love his work ethic, but they rarely mention such opportunities to _her_. It stings a little to be so disregarded, to be a last resort when they have a deadline and need her to come in and proof some pages. At least with Polly they were on equal footing, called in to the office together.

None of this is going to keep her down. She’s just as capable as Lucas, even if her parents don’t see it. _He_ does, right? Of course he does. He always makes a fuss about deserving nothing but the best, and that they’re both the best…even if she doesn’t feel that way all of the time.

“Are you still with that guy?”

Dread weighs down Betty’s legs, making it more difficult to turn. “Hey, Archie.”

It’s like he’s _disappointed_ in her, clutching the straps of his backpack like he’d rather be pummeling her boyfriend.

“The guy threatened to mangle my hands and messed with my guitar, and you’re still _with_ him?”

Weary, she falls into step with him. “I don’t know what to tell you, Arch. He says that you two had some heated words but he’d never actually hurt you. Maybe…you two should talk it out.”

“I am _not_ talking to that psycho!” Archie practically shouts in the hallway.

“I’m not asking you two to be best friends, I’m just hoping two of the most important people in my life can get along. He says that maybe you’re feeling left out or something—“

“Left out?” Archie looks absolutely bewildered. “Betty, this guy could kill you or something. I am telling you, he’s a grade-A psychopath and you’re just too innocent to see it.”

_Innocent? Or ignorant?_ The insinuation slices across her skin, pain speckling her vision with black stars.

“Just because he has nice hair and dresses up for your parents doesn’t mean he’s a good guy,” Archie tries to convince her. “You need to break up with him. Safely. And soon. Before he does something really bad. I know he’s your first boyfriend or whatever, but there will be other guys Betty. There’s only one of you.”

_He’s always liked you_ , Lucas told her, and she didn’t believe him. But here he is trying to convince her to break up with Lucas and date other people because there’s _only one of her_.

“I _like_ him, Archie, and I’m not going to break up with him just because you two got into a fight. In fact, I remember in eighth grade you went with Stephanie Walters despite the fact that she called me a fat know-it-all and pushed me off the bus. Where was this sense of camaraderie then?”

Her redheaded friend frowns, as if only just remembering the whole miserable three months of her life. “That was different—it was eighth grade, and Stephanie never threatened you bodily harm.”

“Yes she did! My mother had to get involved, and you know how I hate to tell her _anything_ like that.”

“Well—“ Archie flounders, “She probably did it because she was jealous of how close we were—are! And Lucas is doing the same thing! Don’t you wish I had listened when you told me about Stephanie?”

“Of course,” she shifts, uncomfortable where this is going.

“So why are you being so stubborn now? You know I would never willingly hurt you or take away your happiness. This guy is using you, Betty, and you’re just too wrapped up in it to notice.”

“Using me?” she half-laughs. “For what?”

Archie’s the one who’s been using her for years. Of course, she’s been a willing participant. Helps him with his homework so he doesn’t fall behind, listens to the never-ending parade of awful love ballads about other girls. And she loves him, so she doesn’t _mind_ necessarily, but it would be nice if he actually _read_ the Blue and Gold or offered to take _her_ to a dance instead of leaving it to Kevin all those years.

Her childhood friend seems at a loss for words, so she raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Go ahead. Tell me what he’s using me for. He’s got straight-A’s, amazing recommendations, could date plenty of desperate Riverdale Vixens…so why exactly would he waste his time squiring me about town if he didn’t like me?”

Archie’s eyes flicker over her body, his face heating in shame. “You’re…you know… _perfect_ , or something. I’m sure he enjoys the _benefit_ of your company.”

It’s like doesn’t know her at all. He thinks she’d let some guy just use her for her body without even _noticing_? Tears sting at her eyes, but anger overpowers them. “Wow, Archie. You know what? Don’t talk to me.”

“Betty!” he pleads.

“No! Lucas would never make me choose between you and him. It’s like…he knows me better than you do. At least he sees me as more than a body and a brain.”

“Please—Betty, you’re my oldest friend, and I just want what’s best for you!”

“No you don’t! You only care about what’s best for you! Lucas and I _are_ what’s best for each other!” With a start, she realizes she’s crying, and quickly retreats, swiping hot tears off her cheeks before anyone else can see. Archie’s still pleading in the background, chasing after her, but Principal Weatherbee intercepts him.

_Thank god,_ she thinks to herself, sliding into her desk with her head down so no one can see the anger bubbling within her.

 

* * *

 

Lucas loves it when Betty’s angry. He can practically feel the tension rippling off of her when she sits next to him in math class. Her fingers are going to be sore later from how hard she’s gripping her pen.

“You okay?” he asks, not bothering to contain his smile.

“Fine. Just…dealing with Archie.”

“Huh,” he says noncommittally, settling easily to the flow of class, glancing at his rigid girl every so often.

During lunch, Archie hovers a few tables away, glancing over at Betty worriedly and often enough that even Kevin notices.

“How long are you going to keep the ginger puppy in the doghouse?” he asks, borderline amused,

“As long as it takes him to apologize for being ridiculous…and then some,” she mutters, tearing angrily into the peach she’s packed for lunch. Watching juices trail along her chin makes Lucas’s stomach churn.

She catches him staring, so he sits up a little straighter. “You know, maybe I should start packing _you_ a lunch as well. Not that your mother’s meals aren’t perfectly nutritional, but I’d like to treat you to a little something special. Once a week? Wednesdays? I know your mother usually has to stay late on Tuesdays because of the Register so she might appreciate the break.”

“That’s really thoughtful,” Betty blinks, surprised, her anger buried beneath appreciation. “But you don’t have to—“

“I want to,” he reassures her, placing a firm hand on her hip.

Kevin sighs and smiles at them. “Oh god, without Archie here to balance things out this is just too sweet for words. You two are perfect for each other. Prince Charming and Nancy Drew…or maybe Princess Buttercup. Cinderella seems too easy. She bakes, she cleans, she works with animals.”

Giggling, Betty shakes her head. “Buttercup had to deal with that pompous Prince Humperdink. Gross. I’d much rather have a Westley.”

“How do you feel about fencing and growing a mustache?” Kevin asks Lucas dryly across the table.

Stifling the urge to actually start a fencing club, he turns to Betty with as charming of a smile as he can muster. “As you wish.”

She practically sparkles before kissing him, leaving the syrupy taste of peaches and her pink perfection on his lips.

He moans, licking his lips as they part, and Kevin has to remind to him to take it easy before directing the conversation back to _The Princess Bride._

At the end of the lunch period Lucas is in such a good mood that he actually stops at Archie’s table, firmly gripping Betty’s hip so she doesn’t try to run away.

“Archie, I just wanted to apologize for any harm I may have done to your and Betty’s relationship. I do hope that no permanent damage has been done, and that you and her and well as you and I can return to being good friends.”

The practiced smile is met with obvious distrust, and Archie shakes his head, looking from Betty to Lucas. “You’re so full of shit, man.”

“Archie!” Betty hisses.

“No, Betty. It’s all right. We’ve extended the olive branch, and now we can move on with our lives. Good luck at the big game,” Lucas winks, taking particular pleasure in dragging Betty closer to him as they leave the field.

 

* * *

 

Something about the atmosphere of the drive-in always puts Betty in a philosophical mood. The movie is _Shadow of a Doubt_ , and although she’s seen it before, and she _knows_ Uncle Charlie is secretly a murderer, she never gets tired of his niece and namesake Charlie discovering it for herself.

Lucas shifts beside her, arm uncomfortably draped over the seat. They’ve never fooled around in his car, and by his tense posture, he’s probably not planning it for tonight. Hitchcock thrillers aren't much for make out moods. Lucas's eyes flicker from the screen to some people making noise a few rows over. Distractions don't bode well for Lucas _._ Her hand finds his thigh, hoping to comfort him in some way. Brow still furrowed, Lucas turns back to the screen.

“This is my favorite Hitchcock movie,” she says softly, even though she could probably talk as loud as she wants at the drive-in. “Something about darkness lurking in suburbia…gets me every time.”

“Well you’d know all about that darkness,” Lucas smirks, accidentally leaning into the gear shift. “Ah, sorry.”

She licks her lips, worried that he’s not having a good time. Lucas has never really been a big fan of going to the movies. He much prefers something he can either observe uninterrupted or discuss at length. If they do watch a film, it has to be in the distraction-free environment of his own home or hers…although if she ever asks him to watch a movie with her on her laptop it inevitably leads to some heavy petting. The drive-in is possibly the most distracting place she could’ve brought him…but this is one of her favorite movies. She wants to share it with him. She wants to share so much with him, especially now that it feels like she has so little left to give.

Startled by her own thought, she asks, “Hey, do you want some popcorn?”

“Really, Betty?” he quirks a brow. “It’s nutrition-less corn fodder.”

“I know,” she says softly, shrinking into herself. “But it’s tradition. Just a small? To share?”

“I guess,” he sighs, but stops her before she can exit the car. “I’ll get it. You stay here.”

“You don’t have—“

“I know,” he cuts her off with a knowing smile, kissing her smartly before exiting the car. “When I return, perhaps we’d be more comfortable in the back seat?”

“Yeah. Sure,” she nods, not sure if he’s already bored by the movie or just wants to be closer. It’ll probably be more relaxing back there anyway. Still, she remains in the front seat as she watches him make his way to the concession stand. Some guys in leather jackets heckle him, something like, “Hey Ken, getting something nice for Barbie?” Lucas takes it all in stride, smirking at them before putting his hands in his pockets and focusing on the line ahead. He’s by far the snappiest dresser in Riverdale, followed closely by Kevin, although even Kevin’s been stepping up his game now that there’s someone else to set the bar.

Betty loves the way he looks in his slacks and sport coat. Once he found out she really liked his dark purple jacket he made sure to wear it more often, especially on dates. The glow of the drive-in lights makes his hair even more blonde, angelic in the light, the dark roots stark against his warm skin. As if sensing her gaze, he turns and smiles at her, those pale eyes almost inhuman in this light. Breathless, she smiles and turns back to the screen.

Are they the perfect couple? She still finds it hard to believe people see them like Ken and Barbie (and he’s certainly not an “accessory”). She could brush her ponytail back a thousand times and still not be quite right. She can’t walk in heels. She doesn’t know multiple languages. He’s just…so perfect. She’s not sure she measures up to it. Sometimes she wants to be _normal_ for a second…eat what she’s not supposed to, have sleepovers with girls. But ever since Polly was sent away, everything feels so out of reach. Although being with Lucas has lifted her up, in some ways it’s made the pedestal she’s supposed to stand on even taller, even harder to reach and stay balanced.

The thought makes her nauseous, so she turns back to the screen.

 

_“We're not just an uncle and a niece. It's something else. I know you. I know you don't tell people a lot of things. I don't either. I have a feeling that inside you there's something nobody knows about... something secret and wonderful. I'll find it out.”_

 

Young Charlie’s sparkling optimism tugs at Betty’s heart strings, and she can’t help but want to warn her that not all secrets are wonderful. Her fingers subconsciously trace over her scars, the crescent ridges prompting more internal thought.

What does Lucas think about her scars? Does he think that they’re is something secret and wonderful? But they can’t be, right? Because they’re scars. No one else…except maybe her mom, knows about them. Even Archie never bothered to ask. To notice. Even though Betty’s the one who shared her scars with Lucas, the way he’s able to read her so effortlessly makes her think he would’ve found out soon enough. She’s barely done it since they’ve gotten together. The promise ring helps with general anxiety, it’s just anger that sends her reeling into the bad habit.

As she keeps watching the movie, she turns again to look at Lucas, watching the tendon his neck stretch in anger while he looks up against the side staircase of the projection booth. But then the clerk hands him the popcorn and his smile snaps back into place.

“You okay?” she asks gently when he returns.

“Of course.”

They slip into the back seat, and it feels like the date gets back on track. The nice fake journalist onscreen reassures Young Charlie that she’s “anything but average,” and Betty can’t help but think that Lucas is anything but average too.

 

* * *

 

 

Startled, Jughead nearly falls off the stool at the loud banging on the projection room. “Jughead, you in there?”

Swinging open the door, Jughead stares bewildered at his former best friend who is breathing heavily and wearing a hoodie to cover his normally vibrant hair.

“Geez, you running from the cops, Arch? Because coming to a Serpent may not be the first place to—“

“Shh!” he hisses, shoving his way into the booth and closing the door behind them.

“Archie? What’s gotten into you?”

The muscular boy takes a few deep breaths, seemingly finding it hard to get a grip on his emotions. The fact that Archie’s here _at all_ is more than enough to pique his curiosity. Archie’s never been into classic films unless copious amounts of junk food and popcorn-throwing was involved, and honestly they’ve barely hung out since Jughead joined the Serpents. There’s no… _animosity_ towards his former best friend, just natural distance.

“It’s Betty.”

A heartbeat thumps painfully in his chest, and Jughead feels like his stomach's turned to stone.

“She’s in trouble.” Jughead tries not to spiral into panic. Betty’s really strong, super smart, and… “The guy she’s dating, Lucas, is a total psycho. He’s going to cut her hair off or hurt her or something.”

Startled out of the images of Betty tortured endlessly by her parents, Jughead blinks. “What? The clean-cut guy?”

“Yeah! Totally nuts. I’m telling you Jug—“

“They’re right over there,” he points out through the small window from the projection booth.

“Sh! They might _see_ us!” Archie scolds. Jughead’s never seen him this worked up before.

“They look fine. Happy." If Jughead wasn't already known for his snark, Archie might suspect he wasn't exactly thrilled about witnessing the saccharine display for more than one reason. "He got her popcorn, they’re cuddling. I fail to see the warning signs. Is he hurting her or something?”

“No, he’s—“ Archie shuffles the back of his neck with his hand, looking at a loss for words. “Look, I know it’s hard to believe, but he’s systematically trying to control _every part of her life_. It’s like he’s joined up with her parents to brainwash her or something.”

“Brainwash Betty?” It makes a good B-movie title, but Jughead can’t keep the dubiousness out of his voice. She’s _smart_. She wouldn’t fall into some cult or anything.

“Look, he’s obsessed with perfection, right? And who else around here is more perfect than Betty?” Archie has him there. He takes another glimpse at the back of her blonde ponytail, aware of the way her eyes are totally fixed on the film. This would be her favorite, wouldn’t it?

He’s been watching her for years, so there’s no imminent fear that she’ll suddenly turn around and catch him between the slatted window. It’s not like a creepy obsession or anything. They’d been friends. He’s just…curious…what it’s like to have that. Her life. Her smooth, soft hair. Little sweaters reminiscent of the golden days of America. A puzzle-solving brain, a compassionate urge to smother her own needs for others (especially Archie). Come to think of it, she used to split her lunches in half for Jughead on days where his parents forgot to get him anything. Her family is something he’s torn between envying and loathing, knowing how fractured it really is beneath the surface.

Prepster holds Betty a little tighter, lightly playing with the back of her ponytail in a way that makes Jughead's heart ache. Sometimes he thinks he's a masochist. “Okay so let’s say he’s obsessed with Betty. He has her, right? So where’s the danger?”

“A lot of weird stuff has been happening, and Lucas seems to be tied to all of it, tied to Betty. If he doesn’t get an A or something he goes ballistic on the teacher until they change his grade. Reggie said the guy was a nut job, told him he’d shove a pen through his windpipe if he kept talking during class.” Jughead snorts, thinking rather unceremoniously that it’d be a favor to mankind as a whole. “I didn’t believe it either, because he always does it when no one else is around. And look at him, the guy is like the sparkling image of a model citizen. But when Reggie ran against Betty and Lucas for homecoming court, Lucas convinced Betty to pick Reggie’s locker open to find the drugs he was dealing.”

Jughead’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Reggie went to juvie?”

“No, he got suspended.”

“Of course,” he scoffs. If that had been him, or someone from the south side, they would’ve been expelled and in juvie in a heartbeat.

“Listen,” Archie insists, grabbing his arm. “At the dance, I put my arms on Betty’s waist, and Lucas pulled me aside and went _ballistic_ on me. The guy said he was going to chop my fingers off and feed them to my dog.”

“What?” That was beyond bizarre. Even Sweet Pea’s threats tended not to bring in the family pets.

“Yeah,” Archie nods, gaining momentum, “and then he messed with my guitar right before the performance and spouted some bullshit to Betty about how I’m _jealous_ of him or something.”

He knows that feeling. Suppressing a part of him he thought he’d long-buried under a leather jacket, Jughead shakes his head. “I mean, I get it. You guys have been _close_ —“

“I’m not jealous, Jughead! I’m scared for her! What if she ever wants to leave him and he doesn’t want to let her go? She’s not talking to me, and I get the feeling if they even see me near them it’s going to start even _more_ trouble, and I want Betty to feel _safe._ ”

“So…why are you talking to me about this? You know I’ve barely spoken to her in years, right?”

Licking his lips, Archie looks _desperate_. “Because, you care about her, man. I know you care about Betty almost as much as I do.” Understatement of the year, Jughead thinks bitterly. “I figured maybe you and your friends could show her that he’s not good for her, you know? Maybe you get catch him getting into a fight or threatening people or…stage it so he’s cheating on her?”

“Staging infidelity? Damn, Archie…I want to _help_ her, not _hurt_ her,” Jughead scowls, surprised that he wants to assist in this craziness at all. “But how are the Serpents going to do that?”

“At the very least she may listen to you. Show her you care. I don’t know. We’re her oldest friends, and Kevin’s sworn to mostly stay out of it, probably because he likes being able to wear slacks without being made fun of now, so…you’re my only hope.”

Sighing, Jughead turns back to the slatted window, aware of the ominous music around them. Her boyfriend isn’t watching the movie, he’s not even watching his girlfriend. His gaze is fixed firmly on the rear-view mirror, watching everyone else. What is he looking for? Enemies?

_No_ , Jughead shakes his head. _He’s probably perfect for Betty._ Still, if Archie just wants him to keep an eye out, he will. At worst, he’s probably just a stuck-up prep. 

Young Charlie is having her own boy troubles onscreen. _“We just sort of go along and nothing happens. We're in a terrible rut. It's been on my mind for months. What's gonna be our future?”_

Her boyfriend brushes it off, _“Oh, come now, Charlie. Things aren't as bad as that. The bank gave me a raise last January.”_

_“Money? How can you talk about money when I'm talking about souls? We eat and sleep and that's about all. We don't even have any real conversations. We just talk.”_

He wonders if Lucas speaks to Betty’s soul…that tender, beautiful girl, in one of the three languages he speaks, no doubt.

Ugh, his own romanticism sickens him. He’s going to have to figure out a way to spin this to the Serpents, assuming he has to tell them at all. Betty won’t even notice him. He’ll just assure Archie that she’s okay and go on living his life. It's not like his own soul needs much talking to anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas tries to prove to Betty exactly why Pink Perfection should be her color after an incident with her parents. Jughead and Archie stalk her to Innuendo, the local gay bar, where unfortunately Lucas finds her too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sauciness at the very end so cover your eyes if you can't handle that kinda thing. Betty is not the perfect girlfriend, or perfect anything, and YET SHE IS. As always comments feed my little writer heart and soul so please kudo or comment if you enjoy ^-^

“Checkmate.” Lucas grins, satisfied.

“Amazing,” Hal admits, shaking his head with a smile. “Ah, here come the girls.”

Lucas looks up expectantly, noting the smeared red lipstick and stricken expression on Betty’s face.

“What are you doing, Betty? I told you to wipe that off,” Alice hisses warningly.

“I just—I wanted to wear red. Lucas, what do you think?” she asks, pleading silently that he’ll take her side.

It’s jarring against her pale, peachy skin. When he leaves marks on her they fade to other colors quickly, places no one else can see. To have that _red_ just _out there_ for everyone to see knots an uncomfortable possessiveness in his throat. “You’re always beautiful, Betty, but I much prefer your lips in a shade of light pink. Like always,” he nods, much to Alice’s approval.

Looking like she’s been slapped, Betty blinks back a few tears, slowly retreating back up the stairs.

“And put on that sweater I laid out for you!” Alice calls. Scoffing, she shakes her head. “I swear, that girl doesn’t appreciate all we do for her. Thank goodness she found you, Lucas, to talk some sense into her. Her weight’s fluctuating again, and she got an A- in Chemistry. With our help, she should be back where she needs to be in a few months. If only she had the discipline to do it for herself.”

Swelling with pride, he nods. “My pleasure, Alice. Betty’s care and Harvard are my number one priorities.”

“That’s what we like to hear.” Hal claps him on the back, moving towards the kitchen for another pre-event drink.

Alice looks weary, tired of constantly having to reign these people in. “Hal…”

“It’s just one, Alice.”

“Let’s keep it that way. We don’t need our peers to get any more ammunition than they already have.”

“Peers? These people are basically Blossom compatriots.”

“Still.”

The warning stays there, and a few moments later Betty rejoins them, not quite able to reciprocate Lucas’s smile.

“Are you going to pout all night just because you had to wear pink?” Alice rolls her eyes. “Don’t be a child, Betty. It’s a color. Pink perfection is much more you, don’t you think, Lucas?”

“Well, she is perfect.”

Betty slumps, and he has to tug her arm to make her straighten up. Poor posture doesn’t become them, nor does her admittedly childish behavior.

At the event itself, she isn’t quite herself. After the first few minutes he leaves her side to chat with peers. Adults, interested in nonfiction. It’s fascinating to hear their thoughts on all these _worlds_ , all these layers, to watch the glow of admiration in their eyes when they realize how smart he is for his age. Finally…he’s at home. Literary events are just one of the perks of aligning with the Coopers.

Eventually Betty joins him, holding his hand. She offers a halfhearted smile at the Oscar Wilde reference the man to his right offers. “Hey Lucas, I’m getting a little tired. Do you think you could walk me home?”

“What? Now? Betty, these are the events we live for. Network. Get out of your shell a little,” he urges quietly, embarrassed that he even _has_ to say this in front of their peers.

“I have,” she half-laughs, looking around the room. “We’ve been here for two hours. I’m just…running on steam.”

“Maybe if you drank less milkshakes and ate more protein you’d have more energy.”

Her big eyes rest on his face, passive. Her mouth sets in a firm line. “You know what? Forget it. I’ll walk home myself. I’m sure I can use the _exercise_.”

“No, I’ll—“ he hesitates, looking longingly at the narrative crafters in front of him. It’s so selfish of her. She must get to go to these things all the time, but this is his first one. This is _captivating_. The sound of a crack startles him, and he feels Betty buckle next to him.

“My hand,” she whispers, subtly trying to pull away.

His hand is so much bigger, stronger than hers, it’s no wonder she cracked under the pressure. “Oh, I’m so sorry Betty. Let me—“

“She’ll be fine,” Hal gleans, looking more than a little buzzed. “Betty, I’ll drop you off so your mother doesn’t have a fit.”

Betty’s eyes widen as she clutches her sore hand to her chest. “No, Dad, you shouldn’t be driving.”

“I’ll walk her, Hal,” Lucas insists, narrowing his gaze on her father. He’s had experience dealing with a well-lubricated father. It’s shameful that Hal would do this in public. That must be where Betty gets her occasionally childish behavior from.

“Seriously, Lucas, it’s fine,” Betty insists, backing away.

He walks with her anyways, leading the way outside and gets her about a minute from her house before he realizes they haven’t spoken the entire time. She’s biting her lips, looking downcast despite the picture-perfect moment they have here, holding hands in pseudo-formalwear.

“Are you still pouting about tonight?”

“No,” she mumbles, which he hates anyways. Say what you feel with conviction. “I’m just tired. It’s been a really long week.”

Glowing, Lucas can’t help but agree with her. “We have accomplished a lot, haven’t we?”

Homecoming court. Exposés. Although Betty’s already a minor member of the council, their campaign for the presidency is just around the corner. “I need you to take care of yourself, okay? I'm trying to build a future for us. I can't do it if you're not invested.”

His thumb presses against her jaw, tracing the hard bones there. Quiet, she nods. They kiss, her arms snaking under his sport jacket to pull him closer. The intimacy of it strikes him as thrillingly inappropriate for her driveway, especially since her parents aren’t home. He allows her to be naughty for a just second until her tongue starts plying against his mouth. Now he’s in danger of missing _more_ of the party.

“Can you stay? Just for a minute?” she asks, fluttering her eyelashes rather prettily.

“You know I can’t. We have obligations.”

“To what? We don’t know those people,” she chuckles, angling her hips closer against him.

“Betty, _no_.”

He disengages, smoothing hair behind her ear one last time before pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Now take care of yourself. I don’t want to have to leave these events early if you’re tired again. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

With that, he returns to the car he left parked in their driveway to head back to the party before he misses anything important.

 

* * *

 

 

There’s that chill again, rocking to her core.

It just feels like…there should be _more_. More and less at the same time. It’s probably just because her and Archie are on the outs. That’s like…1/3 of her friends just…gone.

Kevin texts her something about hunting lots of cute boys at _Innuendo_ tonight so he won’t feel so left out next time her and Lucas start making heart eyes at each other.

Sighing, she glances at the mantle. Her mother replaced the picture of Betty’s Eighth Grade braces-filled glory with her and Lucas’s homecoming portrait. It’s sweet, putting him up like that, but part of her feels like it’s rejecting _her_ too. Is she just…part of a couple now? Is she no longer _herself_? Archie seems to think she can’t put together two thoughts on her own. Her mother seems to prefer Betty as part of a set.

They won’t even let her wear red lipstick.

Glancing curiously at the sad-sack in her reflection, Betty decides maybe she does need some time for herself. And she needs a bit more color.

Feeling a bit more herself, Betty chugs a glass of water and pinches her cheeks, quickly reapplying her red lipstick and changing into something a bit more fun. Kevin’s always down for a wing-woman.

Innuendo. Yes. She just needs to go somewhere where nobody’ll be looking at _her_. Someplace she doesn’t have to smile and nod, someplace she doesn’t even have to _think_.

Satisfied with her look in the mirror, she heads out into the fall night.

 

* * *

 

“Jughead you have to get down to the gay bar.”

The shocking words settle in Jughead's brain before he's properly able to respond. “What, pray tell, are you doing at _Innuendo_?”

“I’m following Betty,” Archie hisses, as if it should be obvious.

“Is there a reason _I_ should be there? It sounds like you have stalker duties covered, being her next-door neighbor and all.”

“I told you, she won’t talk to me.”

“Well—“ Jughead stutters, not really wanting to hop on his bike. The club’s only a few minutes away. He knows Fangs and Joaquin have been, maybe even Toni, but it’s not _his_ scene. “I’m not going to talk to her about her boyfriend in a gay bar.”

“You don’t have to talk to her about her boyfriend,” Archie argues, and Jughead can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Kevin’s there but he’s gonna be hooking up all night. Betty needs someone to be there for her.”

“Archie. Go inside. Make up with your girl.”

“She’s not _my_ girl.” _Well, she sure used to be_ , Jughead thinks with no small amount of regret. But Archie doesn’t get that stuff. Never has. “Please, Jughead? Two seconds just to make sure she’s all right so I can stop hiding in the back entrance. This place gets a lot of action and I’m not exactly keen to see it.”

“Ugh, fine. I’ll send in—“ Archie hangs up on _fine_. “Prick,” he mutters at his phone.

“What’s going on?” Fangs asks casually, as if he hasn’t been listening since he heard _Innuendo_ mentioned.

“My idiot friend wants me to check up on his girl at _Innuendo_.”

“So? We going?” Fangs is already positioned on his bike, ready to go. Jughead sometimes wishes his reputation for being a die-hard loyalist wasn’t _quite_ so easily exploited. At least Fangs will go with him.

“I…guess.”

Feeling self-conscious, Jughead follows Fangs to the parking lot. Archie’s dad’s truck is parked around back. He tilts his chin. _Get out of here, idiot._

Fangs pauses as they chain up their bikes, eyeing Jughead from head to toe.

“What?” Jughead asks, tensing.

“You can’t go in with that hat.”

“This is mysecond skin,” Jughead protests, still holding his beanie in the transfer of his helmet.

“I'm not wearing my leather in there either. Dude, it's basically a magnet.” For men? “Some drunk guy’s gonna grab it as a way to flirt with you and he’ll lose it in the fray. Trust me. Leave it in the seat. Plus, if we're doing recon it'll make you stand out like a sore thumb. There are gays, but not _that many_ gays.”

“But I—“

“Leave it,” Fangs repeats firmly, turning and walking ahead with his usual calm bravado.

Shaking, Jughead shoots one last glare in Archie’s direction before stuffing his beanie under his seat and taking extra precautions to lock both it and his leather jacket up like Fangs did. He supposes the less attention they garner, the better.

When he walks in, it’s the _heat_ that hits more than anything else. It’s like the steam of sweaty men is just wafting through the air, but not in the gym locker room kinda way. A dark bar leads the front, opening up to a bigger room where people are dancing. A fake shower setup sits above the dance floor, some guy gyrating under a little waterfall. Jughead barely has time to wonder about the plumbing required to set that up before Fangs lays a hand on his bare shoulder. He knows Fangs would never hit on him, but he still feels a little self-conscious in just a white tank, jeans, and combat boots in a place where men inevitably go to pick up other men. And all without his beanie to shield him from embarrassment. 

“What’s the girl look like?” Fangs asks in his ear.

“Blonde. Perfect. Your usual nightmare.”

Fangs shoots him a wry smile, as if he _knows_. “Sounds more like a dream, Jones.”

Hoping the general heat masks his flush, Jughead moves forward, scanning the crowd. She should be easy to find, one of the only _girls_ here. Although he’s sure lesbians are welcome, there doesn’t seem to be an overabundance of them in the Riverdale/Greendale area.

The techno bass slightly offends his eardrums, but Jughead moves forward nonetheless, tempted to hold onto Fangs just so he doesn’t look so out of place. Thankfully the bar isn’t super big, and in no time at all he’s located Joaquin flirting up against the wall with a _very_ interested Kevin Keller, if he remembers the guy’s frame well enough. It always pays to remember what the Sheriff’s son looks like.

“At least someone’s getting some tonight,” Fangs grins knowingly, nudging Jughead’s shoulder.

“Yeah, whatever. Where’s—“

And then he spots a glimpse of blonde amidst the crowd, although she looks significantly different than when he last saw her at the drive-in. She drags her hair upwards into a bun on the top of her head, letting it cascade down her back with one more swing of her hips to the beat. She’s watching the shower show with some amount of fascination, curiosity more than arousal. Her lips and cheeks are bright red, and it’s so… _Betty Unleashed_ that Jughead feels like his tongue has swollen two sizes.

“That her?” Fangs grins. “Let’s go say hello.”

“N—no,” he manages, catching his friend’s arm. “We’re just supposed to check on her, make sure she’s all right.”

Unimpressed, Fangs raises an eyebrow. “You came in here, sans beanie, and you’re not even going to say hello?” Sweat pours out of Jughead’s body, as if he isn’t nervous enough. “Your loss, dude. I’m gonna go see if I can find a date.”

The room shrinks to the size of a matchbox in Jughead’s mind. “You’re just gonna leave me?”

“Yeah. Killjoy.”

Groaning, Jughead wishes he could just be by himself. Why the fuck couldn’t Archie come in here instead? Deal with macho men trying to score someone for the night.

He heads outside to get his beanie only to get an immediate phone call from Archie. “What are you doing, man? You need to keep an eye on her!”

“Why?” he snaps. “She’s fine. She’s dancing while Kevin’s flirting in the corner. Go home. I am too.”

“Just ten more minutes, Jughead, I swear.”

“Fine. But get your stalker ass home.”

“I will. I’ll park down the street, okay? Ten minutes. You can do it. Just tell them you have a boyfriend.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Jughead snaps the phone shut with finality, running his fingers irritably through his hair. Taking a deep breath of somewhat fresh air, he prepares to go back in to the armpit of Riverdale.

In just a few minutes, he gets a lot of compliments about his eyes and hair, more than one guy approaching him from behind to dance. Shyness rears its ugly head, so instead he tries to muster camaraderie and brush them off with, "Thanks, but I'm just here with my friend." Needing anonymity, he moves into the shower audience, just a few people behind Betty and to her right so he can keep an eye on her without feeling like a _total_ creep. He opts for standing still, hands in his pockets while people sway and thrash and bounce near him. She’s looking antsy, a little worn, and glances over at Kevin on more than one occasion.

Jughead’s phone vibrates in his pocket. As if he can hear anything in this noise. He lets it go to voicemail and goes to text Archie back but the idiot calls him immediately.

As soon as he answers Archie’s voice is practically screaming in his ear. “HE’S HERE!”

“WHAT?!” he shouts back.

“HE’S COMING DUDE WATCH OUT I SAW HIM DRIVE BY! DO YOU THINK HE’S GAY?”

Jughead hangs up, immediately looking over his shoulder for a preppy boy who actually has his shirt on. No sign of him. As soon as Jughead turns back, he smacks right into someone edging out of the crowd.

“Oh, sorry,” they mumble, even though it’s entirely his fault.

“No, my—“ his words catch in his throat, eyes going wide as Betty’s blonde head ducks under his arm to get past. She must sense his trepidation, because she glances back at him. His hand still rests on her elbow to steady her.

Her green eyes flicker over him cautiously, and then her expression staggers, recognizing him, staring explicitly where his beanie normally sits. If he didn’t know her better, he’d swear she was drunk, staring openly in awe like that.

“You… _Jughead_?” she manages.

Yay. She recognizes him.

“I’m not—“ _Gay_ he wants to finish. _Stalking you_ would also work. But he knows Prince Charming is on the way and doesn’t want her to get stuck in an awkward mosh pit position with him.

“I almost didn’t recognize you without your hat,” she yells in his ear.

“Y—yeah. I’m just here with some friends.” _Please don’t make this worse_.

“Me too. Kevin,” she nods, as if it’s obvious. And really, it would be.

“Mine’s name is Fangs. Although he ditched me pretty quickly for the possibility of a one-night-stand.”

Giggling, Betty ducks her head, and it’s only then that he really allows himself to smile. No wonder Archie’s still hung up on her. She’s still the nicest, smartest girl in the world. It’s like no time has passed. “Pretty sure Kevin’s doing something similar.” She palms her hair, gesturing in the general direction where Kevin is grinding and making out with someone Jughead can only peripherally assume is Joaquin. Jughead’s actual attention is fixed on Betty, looking for anything Archie might deem suspicious.

“So maybe you and I should ditch them,” he shrugs, not sure what’s come over him. He suddenly just wants Betty to leave, as quickly and as quietly as possible.

“I would, but I’m going to get one more glass of water before heading home. I feel like I’ve sweat half my body weight. Maybe that’ll finally make my mom and Lucas happy.”

“What? That’s crazy,” he insists, aware of the way her breath hitches, as if she can’t believe she just said that out loud.

“No it’s not,” she shakes her head, forcibly pushing past him to get to the bar. He turns, wanting to say something, to warn her, to ask her if she’s okay, but then he spots the fucking prep at the entryway, eyes like a hawk, scanning for his prey while he waits to get in. There _is_ something inhuman about him.

He wants to signal Kevin, tell him to protect her, but it’s too late for that. Prepster enters the gay bar and stands along the edges, thankfully unable to see Betty approaching the bar due to a posse blocking the entryway. Jughead texts Fangs to keep an eye out and tries to move surreptitiously around the bar, recording Lucas as best as he can on his phone while trying to maintain anonymity. Archie is insane and will no doubt want proof this time.

_She’s fine_ , Jughead reassures himself. The whole weight thing is probably nothing, just the usual Cooper madness. But then he sees the way Lucas hones in on her, the way his face contorts in absolute fury when he finally catches sight of her in the crowd.

_Shit, is he going to hit her?_

Jughead starts to move closer, feeling astounded that anyone could be mad at Betty Cooper, especially this stranger—this person who supposedly loves her. But he doesn’t really know their relationship. For all he knows Betty could’ve given him a _reason_ —

He banishes the thought almost as soon as it arises. There’s no way Betty would ever make her partner feel like crap...the only way they would is if they felt like they were never good enough. Which they aren't. Because it's Betty _fucking_ Cooper.

 

* * *

 

Sharp pain keeps her calm. Lucas looks like he wants to take her home and thrash her. How did he even know she was here? Does that mean her parents know too? Flushing, catching her breath, Betty cools her stinging palms against the glass of water and takes a long sip, avoiding her boyfriend’s piercing gaze. It’s probably worse to leave him waiting. He doesn’t move from his spot against the wall, entire body rigid with energy.

Licking her lips, noting the way his gaze darkens, she slowly makes her way over to him. About halfway she nearly chickens out, wanting to stay hidden amidst the bar patrons, but why should she hide? It’s just lipstick. And it’s a gay bar. There’s no one here she would be cheating with.

Three feet is as close as she dares to come right now. His fists flex, fingers absently spinning the rings there.

Feeling drained, she finally meets his dark gaze.

The veins in his neck throb angrily. “I _thought_ you were feeling _tired_ ,” he manages with accusation.

“I was. Kevin texted me, so I had some water and came out—“

“Why? To humiliate me?”

Stricken, she blinks back confusion. “How would this humiliate you? Everyone here is gay. How did you even find me?”

“Kevin was nice enough to post a few selfies.” Baffled, Betty tries to work through _how_ she would’ve gotten on his social media. Maybe she was in the background?

“You couldn’t stay for the _one_ event of a lifetime, but you can come out to be with your _friends_?”

“I’m sorry. I’m—I didn’t think that was the event of a lifetime.”

“It was for _me_ …and it was for _us_. I can’t believe you would just abandon it for _this frivolousness._ ” He smears his lips on the back of his hand, looking like he’d want to do the same to her, wipe away the red on her lips like a stain, like her mother would.

Swallowing away building resignation, she shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I just needed to get away.”

Bewildered, Lucas blinks rapidly at her. “Get away? Betty, we have everything we could ever want. Why would you want to throw that away?”

She opens her mouth, but the words scramble together.

His gaze darkens, losing some of the anger. “Oh. You need to be punished.”

Feeling heat pool between her legs, she flushes. “No, that’s not it. I’m really—“

“Quiet, Betty. I’ll take care of you. Come home with me. Come home.”

He reaches out to her, and even though she wants to just stand there, the bass washing away all of her inadequacies, she moves towards him. Because that’s where she belongs, isn’t it? He hasn’t done anything wrong, and he doesn’t deserve to be punished. Not like her. She’s always doing something wrong, something…not _enough_.

 

* * *

 

When they get into her bedroom, Lucas sits next to her on the bed, already feeling his blood pressure rise. Archie's photos have already been removed from the mirror shrine to her friends. The sound of a choked sob surprises him out of his appreciation.

“Betty, what is it?”

“I’m just…I feel like I’m never good enough. Like, I have to meet this mold for you and my mom and I’m just…I’ll never be good enough. I’m not…perfect.”

Tears squeeze out, dripping down her cheeks in round globs, streaking her flushed skin. Before he can quiet her, she opens her palms, revealing recently reopened wounds. The scars incite a gurgling fascination in his gut. _He_ did that. And he wasn’t even trying.

“Betty. Look at me.” He angles her miserable beautiful face in his direction. “What did I say? Your body and your mind are _so_ important. You need to take care of them. Now I’m not expecting you to be—“ he struggles not to use the word that seems to inspire such censure, “Flawless. I know about your anxiety. I love you and your scars. I hope to leave my own mark on you someday, somewhere private, just for us. But just because we push you to be your best doesn’t mean you’re not already amazing as you are.”

“It definitely feels that way,” she sniffles, green eyes dark with defeat.

“You are the best girl in Riverdale. Why would I be dating you otherwise?”

She shifts her chin out of his grasp. “Are you saying if I wasn’t…if I didn’t have good grades and weigh under 150 pounds you wouldn’t be with me?”

“No! I’m just saying, it speaks highly of you. And it’ll continue speaking highly of you. I’m not going to break up with you if you gain a few pounds or if your GPA drops below a 4.0.” (although he certainly won’t stand that for long, their grades are important) “In fact…I want as much of you as I can get. Even when you’re bad.”

Sniffling, she blinks at him, unsure of what he means.

“Stand up so I can undress you,” he gestures with his chin. The dress she’s got on now is too flirty for his taste. He wants her vulnerable, begging.

“Won’t my parents be home soon?” Betty asks cautiously, already getting to her feet, turning her back to him.

“Not in time to hear what I’m going to do to you,” he promises, kissing her sweaty shoulder. He exhales, releasing tension as his fingers slide along her zipper, unleashing the warmth of her underneath. Still, he can feel she’s a little damp as he helps her out of her dress.

“Wash up. Quickly. Don’t bother with your hair. Then come back here and stand against the wall.”

To his pleasure, she obeys right away. He makes quick work of his clothes, locking the door just in case. The water clicks off, and Betty steps hesitantly back into the room, trying to be demure. “You’ve been a bad girl, Betty.”

She rubs her thighs together, making Lucas even hungrier than normal. He guides her against the wall, palms supporting her weight while he holds her ass flush to his crotch. His fingers skid teasingly over her flesh, pinching and pulling until her every nerve ending is tingling. He should just take her like this, pound her against the wall. The thought guides his dick teasingly along her slit. When she angles her hips back, trying to take him in, he pulls away. “I get to do whatever I want with you, Betty. Don’t you remember the rules?”

She moans her assent, gasping sharply when he bites her earlobe, moving to pant against her neck. “Don’t move…don’t come until I tell you to.” His fingers slick over her already wet clit, teasing her until she moves a foot to brace herself better.

His teeth sink into her shoulder, his other hand pulling tight at her nipple until she gasps out in pain. “I told you not to move.” She needs this. She needs _him_. Obliging, she nods, thrown off-balance when he twists her around, forcing her back up against the wall.

Eyes bright, face flushed, even those unnaturally red lips, he wants to devour all of her. "Do you know why I prefer your lips pink, Betty?" She shakes her head, and he moves forward to lave attention on her neck, her collar, moving lower along with her high-pitched gasps. "It's because...then your lips...look like this." Hooking her thigh over one shoulder, he laps at her freshly cleaned core, wanting to go as deep as he can against that pink perfection. Wriggling against him, she sinks a hand into his hair, an anchor against her need.

_Yes_ , he thinks. _Lose yourself. Give yourself to me_.

Flattening his tongue, he sweeps her again. Her head slams back against the wall. She’s getting close. He can feel her thighs clenching, quivering in the attempt not to come. But she _has_ been bad. So he’s going to make her do it without permission. He’s going to push her to the edge and sending her screaming over it. Still sucking at her clit, he eases one, then two fingers into her and curls against the spongy ridge he knows so well.

“F—fuck!” Everything in her clenches hard, and he fights smiling as he looks up at her, watching her face contract in concerted effort not to come all over his face and hand. “Please, Lucas. I need to—I’m gonna—“

He moans against her, biting gently on the flesh around her clit and swirling his tongue to sooth it for all he’s worth.

“Fuuuuck!” Rutting, legs trembling, she comes undone, tears streaming down his face. He keeps pumping her hard, not letting her slide out of his grasp. “Lucaaaaasssss,” she moans, hips jerking against him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she pleads, the words nourishing his soul.

He lets her ride it out on his face, loving that _he’s_ the only one that makes her feel like this. In fact, he makes her do it again, this time eliciting a sob as she tries to hold it back. “I can’t—I can’t stop it!”

After the second one she’s too sensitive, continually bumping her hips back against the wall in an attempt to alleviate her nerve overload. Finally, he gets off his knees and grabs her by the back of her hair, ordering her to place her hands on the bed so he can take her from behind. He kicks her legs wider open and strokes himself, not wanting that red stain of her lipstick arounds his cock. He sinks himself into her warm wet sheathe, loving that he can feel every inch of her trembling for him. He thrusts hard, but not fast, hitting that sweet spot as often as he can in a _punishment_ he thinks she’ll find pleasing.

“Fuck! Lucas…I can’t—“

Her fingers clutch the sheets, her head lowering even more against the bed, giving him an even _tighter_ angle to work against.

Squeezing his eyes shut in ecstasy, he yanks her by the hair. “Yeah, baby. You can’t do this without me Betty.” He forces himself to watch her, to keep control. The way she’s peeking at him over her shoulder, totally helpless, makes him want to do this all over again. “You can’t come undone like this. Not without me. You perfect fucking bitch. Who makes you come, huh? Who tells you when you to come?”

“Y—you do.”

“You wanna come again baby? You want that?”

“I—yes,” she gasps, surprising herself, even though she can barely stand. “Please. Just one more time…fuck I’m so close.”

“Do it!”

A strangled cry escapes her throat as he pumps into her harder, the soft, firm pressure of her backside against his balls approaching his own release. Quickly reaching out to tease her clit, her body clenches, unravels one last time, the suction of it all bringing him with her.

Serenity, euphoria tears through him, taking away all the anger and manipulation until there’s nothing left but raw want, and soon enough even that abandons him and they collapse forward onto the bed.

“I’m so sorry Lucas,” Betty whispers, eyes streaming with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sh, Betty. Sh. I’m here now. I’m taking care of you,” He moves up on the bed, spooning her as she collapses. Even the feel of her damp hair soothes his rapidly beating heart. He could fall asleep right here, curled around his girl in the fetal position.

“I should be taking care of you,” she says softly, ashamed, and he just sort of kisses her shoulder in indifference.

“No one’s needed to take care of me for a long time, baby. You take care of yourself for me, okay? I’ll let you know if I need this. Tell me you love me.”

“I love you.”

“Good. Good girl,” he sighs contentedly, stroking her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda surprised by how NOT a psycho Lucas was this chapter, right? Aren't we all. Well he IS rather charming...and committed to making this whole thing work. That facade won't be so easy to catch. No no no. But Jughead's still got his fluttery feelings and Archie's got a thirst for vengeance soooo we'll see how that goes.


	3. Pickens and Possibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reggie's return to campus anoints the investigative duo (Lucas and Betty) in potential ramifications of investigating their fellow students. Jughead and Betty reconnect at Pickens Day, prompting Betty to seek her own article idea.

_“You think you know something, don't you? You think you're the clever little girl who knows something. There's so much you don't know, so much. What do you know, really? You're just an ordinary little girl, living in an ordinary little town. You wake up every morning of your life and you know perfectly well that there's nothing in the world to trouble you. You go through your ordinary little day, and at night you sleep your untroubled ordinary little sleep, filled with peaceful stupid dreams. And I brought you nightmares. Or did I? Or was it a silly, inexpert little lie? You live in a dream. You're a sleepwalker, blind. How do you know what the world is like? Do you know the world is a foul sty? Do you know, if you rip off the fronts of houses, you'd find swine? The world's a hell. What does it matter what happens in it? Wake up, Charlie. Use your wits. Learn something.” - Uncle Charlie, Shadow a Doubt_

 

* * *

 

Betty awakens in a cold sweat, shivering deeper under the covers. At school, Archie keeps a wary eye on her, but thankfully doesn’t try to approach. She just doesn’t have the energy for it today. Everything from her hips down aches in a good way…in a well-used way. Lucas seems a little more subdued today too, quietly satisfied with whatever happened last night. Part of her wonders if she should be making something up to him. Sometimes she still feels like she barely knows him, but she wants to know _everything_.

“If you could do anything, what would you do?” she asks idly during their free period. They’re both almost done with their homework. It seems as good a question as any, twirling a pencil at her leisure.

“What do you mean?” he asks, face clouded in contemplation as he tries to extricate himself from editing his essay.

“Assume you had enough money and time off to do anything you want. What would you do?”

His lips purse in thought, finally deciding, “I think I’d travel the world, tour every museum there is. I’d excavate.” Betty finds herself attempting to piece herself into his future plans. She does love museums, and she probably _would_ like travel…unraveling the mystery of an excavation. “I’d surround myself with like-minded people…perhaps win the Nobel Prize.”

“The Nobel Peace Prize?” The randomness of it all interrupts her fantasies, a laugh almost breaking through. Lucas? _Peace_? If they had a Model UN he’d probably be annihilating any country that didn’t agree with his policies.

Slightly offended, Lucas nods curtly. “ _Yes_. Or any other award worth its salt.”

Maybe she’s judged him too harshly. It’s an admirable goal. And really, he is smart and genial and…good things. Rearranging her amusement into more of a subdued smile, she nods. “I’m sure you will, some day. Sixteen and saving the world, one drug bust at a time.”

Placated, Lucas smiles.

At lunch, Archie stays a respectable distance away, even if he does glance over on occasion. Maybe he’s finally taking her seriously. Kevin joins them with a big sigh, falling into his seat like it’s a warm bath.

“I see you’re about as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as I am today. I swear, _Innuendo_ ought to start selling espressos.”

At the mention of the club, Lucas’s expression turns somber. Betty squeezes his leg and tries to steer the conversation away. “So, Kev. How did finding a double date go?”

“Oh, fine. Probably just another hookup but…what are you going to do? I’m a sucker for blue eyes.” Betty bites back a smile, wanting to add, _me too_.

“Speaking of last night,” Lucas adds rather decidedly, glancing over at Archie’s table. As if sensing they’re talking about him, he turns, brow furrowed as he meets Lucas’s gaze. “Did either of you see Archie at the club?”

“No, why?” Kevin asks curiously, not bothering to hide looking over his shoulder.

“I saw his dad’s truck parked close by. Now…I certainly don’t know either Mr. Andrews particularly well, but they don’t strike me as the kind of fellows who would go to a club like _Innuendo_ , and all the other nearby establishments were closed at that time of night.”

“Fred’s a hot dad in his own right, but definitely not _Innuendo_ material,” Kevin laughs, taking another hearty swig of coffee. 

Something wriggles through Betty’s veins, aware of where the line Lucas’s thought is tumbling toward.

Unblinking, he lays it on her. “I think he was following you, Betty.”

The table sits in silence, absorbing the ridiculous accusation. “I—no. He wasn’t. He can’t. How would he even know…I mean, presuming it was before Kevin’s ill-fated post.”

“Ill-fated post?” Kevin echoes, confused.

“I took a picture of it, and…it appears that Archie was sitting in the car. Waiting for someone. He hid when my car approached, but it still appears to be him.” Lucas presents his phone, swiping through until they get to the brief, dark, wobbly picture of Fred’s truck, a smear of orange just barely visibly under the steering wheel.

“Oh my god,” Kevin breathes, whipping around to steal a glance at Archie again. “Are you serious? He was totally stalking you! Or me, which is flattering, but _way_ less likely.”

Betty doesn’t respond. What is there to say? It’s like…who _is_ he anymore? Is it because he’s feeling weird about their friendship? Did he want to make sure she was okay? Or does he really…have some kind of obsession with her now that she’s with Lucas? Part of her holds onto the possibility that he was there for someone else.

“Betty?” Lucas calls gently. “I think you might want to get a restraining order.”

“A restraining order?” she balks, still finding it hard to breathe. “No. Archie’s my next-door neighbor. Where would he even _live_ if he had one? Plus our school is so small—“

“That’s not your problem, Betty,” Lucas insists, surprising her. “Your safety is our number one priority, especially with Reggie coming back in a few days.”

Taking great pains to speak calmly, she shakes her head. “We don’t know _what_ Archie was doing there. Even if it was something weird, he never said or did anything to make me believe I was unsafe. The freeze-out will continue, but everything’s going to be okay.”

She repeats the sentiment internally. It would be. Really.

Lucas’s eyes seem paler, sharper when he furrows them, clearly unsatisfied. “All right. But from now on I’m walking or driving you to school.”

“Fine,” she sighs, although it doesn’t make her feel that much safer. This thing…whatever it is, between Lucas and Archie, is getting out of hand. She just wants things to be normal. But knowing Lucas, that'll never be enough. Their normal has to be better than everyone's best...but part of her wonders if drama will just naturally follow that life.

 

* * *

 

There’s nothing surprising or worrisome about a returning foe, especially one so easily taken down like Reggie. The jock glares daggers at the trio, generally harassing people in the halls.

“Looks like you bitches’ve been eating corn chips while I’ve been away. Better whoop your asses back in shape.”

When the Bulldogs pass by, Lucas stands tall, letting his face brighten with gloating victory.

“Be careful,” Betty warns him, edging closer to him, his brilliant shadow.

“Yeah. Looks like Reggie spent all his suspension at the gym,” Kevin adds, eyeing the jocks with wariness.

“I’m not worried,” Lucas smiles, patient as always. He squeezes Betty’s wrist affectionately. “Only fools make the same mistake twice.”

Although Reggie is by no means the sharpest tool in the shed, he’s smart enough to know that Lucas would follow through on a threat.

Lucas changes for gym with more alertness than usual, aware of the way Archie nervously glances his way every few minutes. A few of the other Bulldogs keep their eye on him, waiting for a rumble. Their testosterone-fueled machismo doesn’t bother him.

Running requires very little focus or teamwork, so Lucas does laps, using Betty in her own gym uniform as a focus the same way people are supposed to pick a spot to return to when they’re spinning until they’re dizzy. Everything else _around_ Betty spins into disarray, but their path remains clear to him.

After school they sit in the Blue and Gold office, his smile calm and collected for his jittery girlfriend. They’re organizing Pickens Day coverage, but he can’t help bringing up the election a few months down the road. “So…we run on the platform that we’re the best.” Simple. Straightforward.

Betty has on her best business face. “I think we can focus on our achievements and dedication to the community. The Blue and Gold, a commitment to Riverdale’s continued success and legacy. Unfortunately we’re also going to have to bring up that we’re the best at budgeting, because let’s face it—this kind of thing is also a bit of a popularity contest.”

“We won homecoming court.” Even if they’re not the most _popular_ , they are the most admired.

“Yes,” she bites her lip, blushing at the memory that sits on the Cooper mantle. Their first big win, the first of many. “But we still need to make sure we have a strong platform other than we look pretty together.”

An earnest laugh escapes him, and he can practically feel it leap across the table unbound. He snaps it off it as quickly as he can. It’s not as ugly as his father’s…but it still sounds foreign…unnatural. “Well the posters look excellent. I’ll take this box to the car so we can put them up around town.”

“All part of the Riverdale Community Outreach Program.” Betty shrugs one shoulder, batting her eyelashes almost apologetically. “Do you think we could… _enjoy_ the festival while we cover it?”

He pauses, contemplating. “I suppose so. It might make a good photo op.”

Betty makes some kind of suppressed affirmative noise in the back of her throat, ducking her head to organize another stack of posters. She’s been a little off lately, but not enough to worry him. Dietary changes often result in dipping energy levels.

“I’ll get the car ready.”

He grabs a stack of posters and makes his way outside. Fresh air briefly infiltrates his lungs before it’s knocked right back out again. Something attaches to his shirt, snapping him hard to the right. For a second all he thinks is how pastel blue the sky is, how much Betty will like it. Then the inevitable crash comes, and he’s on the concrete. His throbbing shoulder is barely even a blip on his radar. Everything is just a loud ringing sound, a white noise alarm screaming at him to attack.

A jock-shaped shadow leers over him, delivering a punch hard enough that blood speckles out his nose across the concrete. Still, the jock’s cocky enough to pause in between the barrage of punches. Another shadow joins him, this one kicking Lucas while he’s down. Struggling to a crouch, Lucas reaches his hand in his pocket for the little surprise he has waiting there.

Something hurtles into the shadows, and the sun shines through like it’s a miracle, a sign from above. Lucas lunges upwards, stabbing the remaining shadow somewhere in his abdomen.

“Shit!” the shadow screeches, the one word he can pick out. Stumbling back, the shadow reshapes into something resembling Reggie Mantle. Lucas grips the box cutter in his hand a little tighter, advancing on his now-prey. So he thinks he can fight dirty, huh? Jocks were always the dumbest of his aggressors.

Licking his teeth, Lucas moves forward, savoring the metallic taste in his mouth.

“ _Lucas_!”

That angelic voice calls him back, silences the ringing in his ears. Stunned, he turns, expecting her to be at the top of the stairs. But it takes a moment for register that she’s on the ground, struggling to keep the second aggressor at bay. Lucas’s pupils dilate, pulsing. Although objectively he sees that she’s going for her keys to keep the shadow from pummeling her, part of him is whispering _kill_. _Maim_. He wants her to do it, the same way he’s going to do it to his shadow.

With a grunt and a heave, her shadow lurches to the side, its face slashed. The shadow recovers, pushing back, calling her a _crazy bitch_. Lucas stands rigid, waiting for the tell-tale hiss of pepper spray. Then it occurs to him that she’s too close to use it. Just as he steps forward to wrap the box cutter around the offender’s throat, a police siren blares, cutting through the adrenaline.

Lucas’s neck snaps in the direction of the cop car, aware that Betty’s shadow is clambering off of her. Reggie distantly demands a trip to the hospital. Ignoring the fray, Lucas looks back down at Betty and notes that even after an altercation he ponytail stayed perfectly intact. Huh. Trembling, she pushes herself upright and looks up at him under her long lashes. Why does she look ashamed? She was wonderful. She _is_ wonderful.

“ _Her eyes were brightened by the exercise,”_ Lucas remembers Mr. Darcy thinking of a certain Elizabeth Bennet. And so he fawns on Elizabeth Cooper with a new fascination, blood dusting her fingers where she gripped her keys, her shadow painted with it. It’s so _ruthless,_ so _real_.

And now they can get those stupid jocks expelled instead of just a slap on the wrist. This will make a great story and anecdote for when they attend more literary functions. Instinctively, Lucas grabs his phone and takes a video of the scene, capturing Betty’s haunted expression to savor for later.

 

* * *

 

Someone knocks on the linoleum siding of the projection booth. It's too polite to be Sweet Pea or the gang.

Sighing, Jughead rolls his neck and pops out of the projection booth. “Yeah?”The sight of a familiar pair of worried green eyes nearly sets him reeling. “ _Betty._ ”

“Jug?” Her brow furrows in confusion. “You work at the drive-in?”

“Yeah. Projection.” Full sentences must have run away from him along with decorum. Maybe leaning against the building more like a typical loiterer will restore some of his confidence. “What can I do for you?”

She shakes her head like it’ll give her more energy. “Oh. I don’t mean to bother you, but could I put this poster up on the bulletin board? Pickens Day is coming up, you know, and as a community board member I’m supposed to put these up around town.” It’s odd to see her babble, not wanting to make eye contact. But why? Is it because of the other night?

Jughead stretches his neck. He can’t exactly promote Pickens Day here, not with the Serpents hanging around. “I don’t think the drive-in would be the best place for it,” he tries.

Betty blinks up at him. “Why not? It’s a pillar of the community. People come here to celebrate heritage and culture all the time…in films and vehicles. Why wouldn’t they want to celebrate that at a town picnic?”

Leave it to Betty to understand what makes this hunk of land special. Most likely Alice and the rest of the north side have kept her ignorant on other aspects of the holiday. “Well…General Pickens kicked the Uktena clan off their land to claim it as his own. A lot of the south siders are descended from Uketena so they’re not exactly _keen_ on Pickens day. It’s sort of like Native Americans and Columbus Day. Not a good mix.”

His attempt at sardonic humor only manages to make her twist her mouth more. “But…how are we going to celebrate Riverdale, let alone bring together the community if only half the town is willing to participate?”

“Good question,” he shrugs. “Maybe don’t celebrate something offensive?”

Betty inhales sharply through her nose, looking a little pained in her agreement.

Feeling guilty, Jughead softens. “Here, let me take a look at it.” Maybe it’s not so offensive. Or maybe he can just take one to be nice and say someone tore it down if she asks later.

Betty presents the poster only to hesitate, looking stricken.

Jughead couldn’t focus on the poster even if he wanted to. “What? Betty what is it?”

“This—this one is…dirty. I’ll get you another one,” she blushes, crumpling the poster to throw it away

“What? Did you get some—“ Muddy splashes paint the poster red. The look on her face tells him it’s not mud at all. “Are you hurt?” he asks, throat constricting. If it was that Lucas kid—

“No! Not…no.”

“Let me see your hand. Maybe it was just a paper cut.”

“No, I’m fine,” she protests, but Jughead’s always been a pretty good observer. He can just barely make out the sting of crescent-shaped marks on her palms. Lucas couldn’t have done those. Did she…did she do those to herself? The fingers on her right hand also have a few cuts gashes, like she’s been in a scrape or something.

Oh. She’s also wearing a ring on her left hand (not _that_ finger, but still). Archie left that little bit of information out. Right now it’s the least of his worries.

“Betty,” he swallows, not knowing what else to say. It’s like his insides have turned into soft, rotting ice cream in the face of an injured girl-next-door. Years in gang life should have prepared him for something like this _,_ but somehow it hasn't dulled the compassion he has for her.

Trying to build up her resilience, Betty lets herself close her eyes. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

His voice comes out raspy. “Tell them what?”

Betty chews her lip, trying to decide what to say. It makes Jughead honestly want to cry or punch something or hold her. What is she doing to herself? Does this guy…does he know about it?

“A lot of things,” she decides quietly, fingers smoothing over the recent stings. Neither of them really know what to say, and Jughead has to stop himself from hugging her just to fill the silence with something. A gesture. _I still care about you. I’m still your friend._

Instead, Betty swallows, ready to spill at least one of her secrets. “Earlier today, Reggie and his friends jumped Lucas—my boyfriend.” The admission surprises him. Why wasn’t Archie in on that mix?

“Why? Is he okay?” Jughead asks carefully, trying to be politically correct.

Looking even more exhausted, Betty leans against the building with him. “Lucas and I exposed his drug dealings to Principal Weatherby. He didn’t like that. So when he got back from suspension, he got a few of the Bulldogs to _teach him a lesson_ or something. He’s—he’s okay. I mean, they burst a blood vessel in his nose and I’m sure he’ll be bruised tomorrow, but—“ Her eyes glaze over, and Jughead’s lost her for a second. Her hand anxiously smooths back her ponytail, and Jughead has to gently take her arm to put it down so she doesn’t get blood in her hair.

“Lucas—he um,” Unfocused, she keeps glancing away at the siding next to Jughead’s head. “He had a box cutter from when we were unpacking the posters. These posters. And—he stabbed him. He stabbed Reggie.”

Jughead blinks, absolutely stunned, still holding onto her arm so he has some grip on reality. It’s surprising no one’s ever really _punched_ Reggie for his loud mouth before, but for someone to _stab_ him?

“It was self defense,” she declares fiercely, eyes flashing at Jughead, as if reading his expression. He nods, trying to keep up. “He’s—he’s going to be okay. It was totally non-lethal.” She looks a little less certain. “I think Principal Weatherby must’ve heard us. They’re all down at the station—”

“Us?”

Her mouth opens, not sure if she should go on. “Well…when Lucas was attacked, I wasn’t too far behind him. I guess I just saw what they were doing and…I had to do something.”

What was she _doing_ barreling in there like some kind of superhero? “Did you stab somebody?”

“No,” she half-laughs, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “But I slashed one of them with my keys. Probably did more damage to myself than to them. Tackling a football player is no easy feat.” Jughead pities her little self-deprecating smile. But her eyes look watery again, tears brimming just over the edge.

His fingers gently pry into her scraped ones. “So that’s where these came from?” She nods, swallowing something in her throat. With this grip, he can feel her increased heart rate. “And these?” he asks, thumb not-quite tracing over the crescents on her palm.

“Those are nothing. Those are old.”

“Look pretty fresh to me,” he says quietly, silently begging her to open up to him. But it’s been too many years. There’s no way…

“It just happens…sometimes,” she shrugs, pulling her hand out of his grip. Like it’s nothing. Like that’s just a part of life. Like it’s Sweet Pea talking about another bruise from his old man.

The silence is killing him. Clearly _that_ subject is off-limits for now, but he doesn’t want her to leave like this.

“So…what’s that ring?” he asks, clearing his throat, feeling way too emotionally bogged down to talk about scars. Why he thought _this_ would be any better…

But Betty’s smile hitches on her face, and that’s enough for him to endure the feeling of an elephant sitting on his chest. “That’s from Lucas. It’s for my anxiety, but it’s also…” she blushes, not sure whether she should share.

“A promise ring?” he offers sardonically.

“Yes. He really wants to be a part of my family, to build a future together.”

Jughead snorts, earning a distrusting glare. “Sorry, it’s just—someone _wants_ to subject themselves to Alice Cooper?”

“Yes,” she chides. “Not everyone is terrified of her. They get along great, actually.” By her dubious expression, it probably surprises her as much as everyone else.

“Huh.” Of course they do. They’re a match made in heaven. “Do you…want that with him?”

“Want what?” she asks, carefully flattening her palms against her thighs.

“A future,” he rolls his eyes, crossing his arms in an attempt to remain casual. “With Prince Charming or whatever.”

“I…yeah. Of course I do. We’re in _high school_ so it’s not like I’m expecting a proposal or anything but…eventually, maybe. That’s what people in love do, right?”

It’s the expected answer, the one that’s been drilled into her since she was little and playing Weddings with Polly, Archie almost always roped into being the groom. It was Jug a few times, his small hands sweating profusely in her own until the boys were allowed to beg off and play video games. Now she’s found some guy who wants that for real. Archie being jealous would make total sense, losing that spot of honor as her imaginary partner. Jughead certainly felt that sting of being passed over on more than one occasion...but so had Betty, for that matter.

“Right,” Jughead replies tightly, feeling like a boa constrictor is crushing his chest. She _loves_ that guy. Fuck this. Fuck Archie’s stupid recon mission. Betty wants to be happy and he's not going to get in the way of that. But he can’t help wondering if she really _is_ …if she _would_ be, or if this is yet another side effect of Cooper brainwashing. “So what was that thing about water weight at the club?”

He can’t help it, twisting that knife into her happiness just a little bit, hoping it’ll peel back whatever’s under the surface.

“Oh, that? I was just…” her fingers twist around the ring, and he can’t help but notice that she _loosens_ it just a little. “They’re very conscious about my health.”

“I’ll bet.”

He must say it nastier than he intends, because Betty looks up much more guarded than he’s seen her before.

“I should get going. I’ve got to cover Lucas’s territory too.”

“Sure. Got you on a tight schedule.” He pauses, not _quite_ wanting her to leave. Maybe he should soften his tone. So he stuffs his hands in his pockets and rolls his eyes dramatically, pretending to be unaffected. “Next time you come by let me know. I can probably sneak you some popcorn. For an old friend. You know.”

A smile, a real one, not the Cooper forced pleasantry, breaks across her face. “Thanks, Juggie.”

And just like that, Jughead melts against the linoleum siding of the projection booth.

 

* * *

 

“Betty, get off of him,” Alice sighs. “All that fawning isn’t going to help his bruise. Here. Let’s see how it looks.”

Betty slides somewhat unceremoniously off the couch and her boyfriend so her mother can take a peek under the bag of frozen peas. Betty's kept checking every couple of minutes, just making sure the boy underneath is still the boy she met the first day of school, not the adrenaline-fueled assassin she'd seen the other day.

“Yep, that just keeps getting better every day!” Alice rejoices. “All right. We can just use a little makeup and you’ll be good as new.”

“Makeup?” Lucas chuckles nervously, glancing at Betty. She shrugs. It’s not like there’s much to say when it comes to her mother’s overbearing nature.

Betty swirls a brush in the dollop of foundation on her hand and paints the faint remaining bruises under his eyes until they mesh just a little better with his skin. Part of her wishes they’d just be able to let him heal without worrying how the _pictures_ will turn out. Lucas watches her with a passive appreciation, makeup being one of the few things he _hasn’t_ studied.

“I think we finally found something I’m better at than you,” she teases lightly.

His short, sharp laugh puffs against her wrist. “This isn't something I've studied. I suppose there has to be _something_  you're the expert in.”

The mild sarcasm surprises her, reminding her of… _Jughead_ , of all people. “Careful, I could choose the wrong shade for your skin tone and then you’d look ridiculous.”

His eyes flash with something she can’t quite place. It’s just a joke, but to Lucas it’s like a threat or something. Alice ushers them to the door before she can say anything else.

The smell of maple syrup permeates the town square. People walk hand in hand by the river, perfect pairs. Betty remembers when she’d feel left out, first Polly running from her to get to Jason or her friends. Then Archie for Jughead or whatever girl was his infatuation of the moment. Betty’d skulk behind, feeling embarrassed, fingers and lips sticky with caramel apple, her mother scolding her for eating so much sugar until she, too, finally left her behind to get quotes for an article. Feeling particularly miserable one year, Betty’d taken her popcorn and half-eaten sticky apple to go.

As she made the not-so-terrible trek to her house, she spotted Jughead curiously trying to peer into the Andrews’ window from the porch.

She paused on the sidewalk, trying to figure out what he was doing there. “He’s not home,” she announced, Jughead flinching at the sudden address. It’s like he was used to being a _suspect_.

Jughead’s eyes lingered curiously on the snacks she’d snuck away from her mother. “Pickens Day,” she explained lamely, lifting them as if that made it easier. “Do you want some?”

Jughead looked embarrassed. And hungry. He was always hungry. “I guess I forgot. That’s okay, I can find Archie later.”

“Unless you want to be part of the flag-football tournament, I wouldn’t bother. From what I gather, he and Moose are in it to win it.” Her toes scuffed the well-worn sidewalk. The sound of Jughead shifting uncomfortably on the Andrews’ porch drew her gaze back to him. It seemed like he wasn’t quite ready to go home either. She lifted her treats “Seriously. I’m not supposed to be eating this stuff anyway. Might as well share it with someone who can.”

“Okay,” he’d accepted begrudgingly, and as they settled onto the porch to swap salty, sticky snacks, Betty’d found herself grateful to have someone to share her miserable evening with. Jughead didn’t even have the usual hesitance to bite into parts of the apple she deemed too close to the core, parts she’d already bitten into. She’d wondered if she should be concerned about germs. But Jughead had never been prone to sickness and she didn’t want to be a psycho like her mom, so they continued sharing.

As the years went on, Kevin left his dad’s side enough to be Betty’s de facto date, but now Lucas is here. Her parents are actually _making jokes_. It’s like they’re enjoying themselves or something. Before anything else, the Coopers go to rub elbows with the Riverdale elite (sans Blossoms, obviously).

“So this is Betty’s handsome young man?” Mayor McCoy grins warmly, holding her hand out to shake Lucas’s. “I hear you’re quite the hometown hero.”

“I try,” he smiles graciously.

Betty can’t help but shift anxiously, feeling like a third wheel for the first time in a while. "This is Lucas Ward, Mayor McCoy."

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Mayor McCoy continues, not acknowledging Betty's introduction. “Perfect grades, amazing intellect, strong work ethic. That’s exactly the kind of role model Riverdale needs. Betty’s lucky to have you. You two make a beautiful couple. Maybe we can work that in to a parade somehow. I’ll talk to your parents, Betty. And yours, Lucas. Tell me about Mr. Ward.”

Betty’s smile freezes too high on her face as they continue chatting, completely obliterating her out of the conversation. _Am I just supposed to stand and smile here?_ she thinks dimly, jaw already sore. She tries to inject herself into the conversation, but everyone shoots her a look as if to say, “What are you doing? This doesn’t _really_ concern you. The adults are speaking.” And even though Betty considers herself fairly mature, the sting of rejection hurts, as does infantilizing.

“I’m curious, Lucas. You’ve lived a lot of places. What’s one thing you think could improve Riverdale?”

Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, thrumming with practiced expertise, Betty recognizes Lucas’s _speech face_ right before he launches into what he deems an excellent 3-step process to invigorate life into the town. It’s not very…emotional. A lot of his points involve modernizing Riverdale, letting in big box stores and high-end tourist restaurants that specialize in maple syrup dishes…as if the Blossoms don’t have enough of an empire.

“But Riverdale’s charm is in its quaintness and sense of small-town community,” she finds herself saying, earning that _hush, you innocent child_ look from them again. “I mean, think of Pop’s. Any other diner that has a jukebox or a stack of hot pancakes is _manufactured_. It’s a different, more put-upon _front_ instead of an honest-to-goodness reflection of its community. In Riverdale, Pop’s wholesome, welcoming retro atmosphere is authentic. It’s been a family staple for generations.”

“And it’s failing financially.” Lucas’s eyebrow quirks up condescendingly, and Betty finds herself ready to debate with him…which usually doesn’t end well for either of them.

“It’s not _failing_. It’s just not _thriving_. Riverdale could redefine its image but it could also improve the parts that need it a little more. For example, a lot of properties on the south side—“

“Don’t even _speak_ to me about the south side,” Mayor McCoy sighs, holding up a hand. “So many times I’ve just wanted to level that crime haven. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about, right Lucas?”

Stunned, Betty interrupts before he can answer, earning a very sharp squeeze of her hand. He must not remember that it’s still sore from the scuffle. “How can you say that? I mean, what about all the people who live there?”

“Criminals, blackmailers, and deadbeats who owe back taxes,” Mayor McCoy responds, completely unfazed. Alice nods firmly in agreement. “As you were saying, Lucas?”

Betty’s boyfriend shoots her a warning glare and resumes his carefully scripted observations. If she stays she gets the feeling they’re going to fight. Excusing herself as gently as she can, Betty nurses her hand and makes her way to concessions. She probably can’t _eat_ anything, but at least she can smell it.

She takes a few deep, shaky breaths before heading over to the gazebo. Maybe Kevin will be here soon. She feels embarrassed and she needs to talk it through with someone. She didn’t _mean_ to fight with Lucas, especially over something so trivial like big box stores and restaurants. But it doesn’t _feel_ trivial to her. They’re trying to cover up what makes this town special, what makes it _itself_ , and even though a lot of the buildings in the south side are practically falling down, it’s not like half of their history should just be _leveled._ Couldn’t they make it campgrounds or upkeep better dance clubs? Make a bowling alley? _Something_?

Huffing deep in thought, Betty doesn’t even realize someone’s approaching until he nudges her shoulder. The inky-haired friend of her youth watches her cautiously. “Jug,” she breathes, touching her chest. “You startled me.”

“Obviously. Deep in thought again?”

“Again?” she asks, absently twirling her key necklace. It’s the key to her diary. She always fiddles with it when she wants to keep something to herself, to steady her thoughts. Well, when she isn’t anxious enough to be slicing into her palms, that is.

Eyes squinting in amusement, he swings up on the railing next to her. “Aren’t you always? Nancy Drew?”

“Oh,” she laughs. “Yeah. If only there was an actual mystery to solve other than what’s in the meat sauce in the school cafeteria.”

“Beef. Old, nasty beef,” Jughead shrugs. And he should know. He’s eaten it many a time. Fidgeting a caramel apple into a presentation, Jughead smiles at her a little nervously. “An apple a day might keep Alice away.”

“I can’t,” she smiles. It’s thoughtful of him really, and she wonders if he remembers the Pickens Day celebration all those years ago.

But Jughead’s always been just a little bit guarded, and she can’t quite read him when he asks with restraint, “Why?”

“My mom,” she rolls her eyes. “And Lucas. The health thing.”

“You think one caramel apple will undo years of indoctrination?” Her chuckle just eggs him on. “Come on. One piece. I owe you. And I don’t share food, so don’t get used to it.”

“Fine,” she acquiesces, smiling patiently as he ineffectively tries to cut off a piece with the plastic, nearly useless knife supplied at the kiosk. Finally a sliver of the side breaks off. Before he can argue that she needs a bigger piece, she snatches it and thanks him. “I thought you didn’t like Pickens Day.”

“I don’t. But I do like caramel apples.”

Nodding thoughtfully, she lets the caramel apple dissolve against her teeth. It’s the perfect blend of sweet and salty. It’s just a small piece, but it’s enough. When she looks at him, it feels like he’s observingher. His eyes are dark blue, and sometimes when light hits him in the right way it reminds her of a storm. His curly dark hair hides them most of the time, probably on purpose…so he can observe everyone without feeling like they can see into him. Even his dark long lashes seem like they’re filtering out anyone unworthy. The little grooves under his eyes make him look like he’s permanently sleep deprived, irritable.

In contrast, Lucas’s hair is brown but nearing blonde, everything light and pale and practically reflective against the glow of his excellent skincare regime. Looking into Lucas’s eyes for too long can feel like slowly being peeled open, studied, exposed. As she continues gazing curiously at Jughead, it feels more like being written, observed, explored. Well, maybe Lucas is doing that too…he just knows her so well that it doesn’t feel like exploration anymore. She wonders what it’s like when people look into her.

Blinking away the _weird_ thoughts she’s having, Betty turns. “I read up on Pickens Day, and you’re right. I’m writing an article in the paper about it.” She isn’t. Wasn’t. She hasn’t even seen Mr. Butler to pitch it to him. But sitting here with Jughead, someone who’s almost never even been _invited,_ it feels like the right thing to do.

He must note her hesitance, because he cocks his head at her. “Really?”

“Well, I would…but I don’t really have any south side voices. I thought maybe…you would give it a try?” She holds her breath, feeling a little _too_ hopeful, even as he stiffens in surprise. “Or maybe you could lead me to people who could speak up about it from experience?”

“Yeahhhh,” he drags purposefully, tilting his head as if he’s contemplating it. “I could.”

“But?” She arches a brow, which only serves to amuse him.

“I get to edit it, access to all drafts. I want to make sure you’re not taking advantage.” The caramel apple shakes in her direction, eliciting a giggle.

“ _Me_? Take _advantage_?” she laughs, eyebrows shooting up. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“What?”

“I happen to remember _many_ a sleepover where you said Archie _required_ my special double-chocolate-chip cookies or else I couldn't come over.”  
“I may have exaggerated,” he admits lightly.

“You ate _all_ of them! I swear, you’re like a bottomless pit. _Were_ —“ she corrects, feeling weird about the all-too-easy familiarity they’re falling into. They’re even more friendly now after just a few brief encounters than they were years ago. “It’s not like I know you or your appetite now.”

Sensing the shift in mood, Jughead nods. “It hasn’t changed much. I’m a growing boy. I need my fix.” As if to make a point, he takes a decidedly loud bite of his apple.

“You seem different. More…social,” she treads carefully, trying to be complimentary. “Confident.”

“Comes with the territory of being forced to make all new friends.” He shifts his seat on what she can only assume is an uncomfortable rail. It’s almost like he’s posing up there…but Jughead is usually anything _but_ put-upon. It's kinda hard to imagine him putting up a front when he's wearing the same flannel and dark jeans he always used to, suspenders hanging lazily at his sides. She wishes she had the confidence to just wear whatever she wants. A wrinkly, comfortable sweatshirt. But he does seem at peace in a way, even if he is wearing the same beanie and clothes.

“How _is_ the south side? I mean, I assume you did make friends.”

“Yes, Betty. I am not the weirdo loner you knew in middle school. I am now the Weirdo Prince, beloved by all. Ruler of the land of broken textbooks, rusty water fountains, and ripped jeans.”

“With feasts of corn chips—“

“And a loyal steed.”

“Did you get a dog?” she asks, eyes brightening. “Vegas was always your favorite at Archie’s parties.”

“He wasn’t my _favorite.”_ It’s an odd thing to get defensive about, especially the way he flushes when he says it. “Anyway, I don’t see too much of the boy wonder these days. We have a communal dog at Sunnyside. Hot Dog.”

“Ah,” she nods, feigning being suitably impressed by the simple name.

“Fluffy as he is dumb. The _steed_ , my fair maiden, is a bike.”

He sounds pretty satisfied for something so basic as a bicycle. They all had those as kids. They used them all the time. But she guesses Archie’s always had a dog, so maybe having something shiny and new or just something that lasted all of his own is a big deal to Jug.

“Sounds like you have everything you could ever dream of.”

“Almost,” he nods, and there’s a hesitancy in the way he looks at her that makes her feel like something’s on her face or she said something wrong. With a slow building dread, she realizes it’s probably something about his ( ~~broken~~ ) family.

“Well,” she swallows, looking back out at the festival. “I’m glad it’s brought you out of your shell. Seems like you’re really thriving at south side.”

His voice is quiet, contemplative. “Yeah.”

Cheryl and her cohorts are already casually degrading Josie and the Pussycats across the way as they tune up. Amidst the musicians Betty notes a familiar silhouette.

“Oh no,” she grumbles, nails digging in to the railing.

“What?”

“Archie’s here.”

“Thought you two were pals,” Jughead comments a little dryly, lolling his chin to glance at the redhead.

She turns to Jughead, feeling restless and like maybe she should go and hide. “We were. It’s just…he and Lucas got into it, and now Archie’s being _weird_ and I really can’t deal with him right now.”

“Seems like Lucas gets into a lot of fights.”

Her heart thumps loudly in her ears, anticipating another one. “It’s complicated.”

“Sounds like it.” He raises his eyebrows, almost challenging her to justify something.

“I—I should go. Thanks, Jug. It was good to see you.”

Before she can escape back to the festival, he practically falls off the gazebo to catch her. “Hey, you still want help with that article?”

She’d almost forgotten. The article. “Of course.”

“Okay, well…when are you free? Because knowing the Cooper agenda plus a boyfriend you’ve got maybe two hours of free time in the entire school year.”

It’s not like he’s _wrong_. Lately it seems like every second is accounted for with prep. But this article is timely. She needs to have it ready to print by Wednesday at the latest.

“Um, how does tomorrow sound?” At his laugh, she backtracks, embarrassed. “Too soon?”

“No, just—eager. I’ll see what I can do. You still at the same number? 5617?”

“Yeah,” she nods, feeling shy that he’d remember it after all these years, just like she remembers Archie’s home phone.

“I’ll text you. Now go get that scoop,” he grins, flicking his nose like an old-time reporter. At least  _someone_ wants to play with her.

 

* * *

 

As expected, Mayor McCoy is absolutely charmed. The Coopers have basically adopted him into their fold. After overhearing his suggestions, they even want him to write an article for the Register.

Things are going nicely. _Very_ nicely.

A twinge of red-hot fury scuttles through him when he thinks of Betty _questioning_ his vision, but he shudders it off as gracefully as he can. Can’t do that here. In public. Especially not with everyone so happy to see him.

He catches Betty’s eye after what looks like an interview with yet another festival-goer. It seems his silent summons works, because she prances over, ponytail bobbing.

“Hey,” she smiles, seeming energized.

“Hey yourself.” He shoves his hands in his pockets so he doesn't do anything he'd regret. “So are you done being childish for the evening?”

Her smile falters, quivering at the edges. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb with _me_ , Betty.”

Dropping the smile altogether, Betty swallows. “I’m sorry. Let’s just…try to have a nice time. I’ve been picking up steam on an article—“

That reminds him! “Your parents asked me to write an article on my proposal to Mayor McCoy. It seems they value my opinion.”

He waits, scanning her for a response. She swallows whatever words were in her throat, enthusiasm cooling to cordialness. “That’s great, Lucas. I’m happy for you. Can’t wait to read it in the Register.”

“Mayor McCoy might even read it at the town hall. In front of everyone.”

“Uh-huh,” she nods, eyes dropping to the grass. She looks tired.

“Are you following the proper nutrition guide I gave you?”

“What? Why?” she asks, testy. Another sign she’s been having too much sugar.

“Because your behavior is a little erratic, and to be honest, so is your enthusiasm. I expect better of you, especially in front of the entire town.”

“Not the _entire_ town,” she sighs, glancing over her shoulder, which only puzzles him further. “I’ve just had a lot going on. Archie’s about to play a song with Josie and the Pussycats, and Cheryl and the Blossom clan are just…themselves…so I’m thinking I’m going to go find Kevin and hang with him for a while.”

“And abandon your date?” he frowns incredulously, only for a moment though, because the song has already begun and they have an audience. It’s a redheaded, thick-skulled jock who’s playing guitar for the masses.

Lucas grabs Betty’s wrist a little more forcefully, smiling in what he hopes is an earnest bid for attention. “Come on, at least dance with me.”

“Won’t that be…kinda weird?” she asks dubiously.

“Only if we make it weird,” he promises, pulling her in by the lower waist, smirking pointedly at Archie as he does so. “Does this feel weird?” he whispers against her ear. Her blonde hair brushes against him as she shakes her head. Her movements are stiff, but she sways with him as best as she can. He lets his breath warm the crook in her neck, feels her shiver against him. And since he can’t see Betty’s face at this angle, he takes satisfaction in Archie’s resentment.

Lucas’s hands roam along Betty’s hips, sure no one else’s eyes are on them except for Archie Andrews’s. With a glimmer of deep, guttural possessiveness, Lucas pulls back just enough to grab Betty by either side of her face and kiss her hard. Decidedly feeling needy, he takes her by the hand and drags her behind one of the far buildings, pushing her against the wall and caging her in with his arms.

“Lucas,” she breathes, eyes bright and just a little frightened. “What are you doing? Someone could see us. Anyone could—”

“We’re just _necking_ , Betty.”

“Is this because of—“

“ _Don’t_.” The flare of anger silences her. Good. His tone deepens as he lets one hand trace the veins in her neck. “Be a good girl for me, Betty. I know just how good you can be.”

Trembling, she nods, lips parted in silent permission to continue his administrations. Their lips slide together, tongues dancing, her fingers curling to his shirt.

_Mine_.

Breaking back to kiss along her jaw, he mutters just loud enough so she can understand him. “Later, I’m going to make you put that naughty mouth of yours to work for disrespecting me in front of the mayor.”

The mood shifts, and she tenses solid. Nipping at her neck, not eliciting the normal gasps, he pulls back.

“What? Are you not _enjoying_ yourself?” he snaps. Because it’s _all about her_ , isn’t it? _She Comes First_ , the highly-rated love maker’s guide certainly seemed to think so.

Her entire _face_ purses as she tries to figure out what she wants to say. “I don’t mind going down on you, Lucas. Like, I enjoy it. But not as a punishment for speaking out about something or…disagreeing with you. We should be able to disagree on things. Isn’t one of the things you said about relationships is that we should be able to challenge one another?”

“But you were wrong. And rude,” he frowns, thumb pressing into her neck. She shifts, relieving the pressure, which makes his anxiety hike a little bit more. He’s supposed to be in control. “You owe me.”

“I _owe_ you?” Outright disturbed, Betty attempts to disentangle from him. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I meant—I own you. The way you want me to,” he reassures her, because doesn’t he? Seeking confirmation, he pushes his body flush against hers until they’re up against the wall again. “Don’t you want me to, Betty?”

“I don’t—I don’t want you to _own_ me…”

His eyes flicker over her body, his thumb still insistently right at her pulse point. That’s what he wants. He can feel her heart working overtime, _reacting_ to him. “Oh really?” Her face is guarded, unsure, still flushed from the attention. “Then how do you want to be punished?”

It’s like words escape her, frown muddling her otherwise beautiful expression. She turns her face from him just as some people walk by, ending the game. It’s not satisfying if he doesn’t know what she’s thinking.

“ _Fine_ ,” he hisses, pushing back. “Fine.” He smooths his hands through his hair, the gel lubricating his fingers so he can fiddle with his rings easier. “We’ll discuss this later. Let’s get back.”

He walks ahead of her purposely. See how she feels without him as an anchor holding her hand. She has to scurry to keep up with him, and only when they’re back beside her parents does he wrap an arm around her shoulder. Her worried expression doesn’t ease until her parents turn to her, and instantly her face melts into its neutral pleasantness. There. That’s the mask he knows and loves.

This is going beyond the typical dietary change. Yes, women’s hormones fluctuate, but not to this extent. He may have to go back to the wooing stage, but it feels like a giant step backwards. She risked her livelihood for him. They wear each other’s rings. Doesn’t that _mean_ something?

Frustrated, his fingers dig into her shoulder, and it takes everything in him to smile pleasantly for her parents as they droll on about maple syrup and corruption in this town.

 

* * *

  

After witnessing the tail end of the way her boyfriend tried to manhandle her the day before, Jughead's not sure whether to expect Betty or not. But Betty arrives, ponytail as tight as ever.

“Where did you come from?” he asks, knowing that her house is on the other side of the park.

“Library,” she shrugs easily, readjusting her backpack. “So…”

“So!” he remembers himself, their mission. “Um, yeah. We’re going to talk to the Topaz family. Mr. Topaz is 100% Uktena so…buckle your seat belt.” The phrase feels stupid on his tongue. They’re not even in a car. Has he become some kind of after-school-special teacher trying to be _hip_ with the young kids? Betty follows him silently, seemingly more interested in her shoes. Not that he can blame her. Even though their conversations since being reunited have been brief, he’s felt some kind of nervous anticipation each time, worried he's going to regress into the mess he was in middle-school. Not that he's any  _less_ of a mess these days...he just has more friends.

As they approach the musty trailer, Jughead tries to gauge her reaction. Betty’s face is unreadable, her eyes bright with general awareness but nothing to denote disgust or fear.

“Hey Toni. This is Betty Cooper.”

His friend eyes her without any sort of warmth, and he has to wonder why she went with a tank top and short-shorts today. At least there’s no Serpent jacket in sight. Toni seems both impressed and irritated at Betty’s wholesome image. “So this is Alice Cooper’s girl? Figures. She looks like a goodie-two-shoes.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Are you going to let us in?”

Irritated, Toni retreats back into the trailer, purposely releasing her hair from the clip atop her head to drape her caramel and pink hair down her back. “You better be nice to him,” Toni warns. Betty glances at Jughead, silently asking, _Is this really okay?_

He nods. That’s just Toni. She’s actually really nice once she lets her guard down. Of course since his dad had been a Serpent, he didn’t have any barriers to really work through. Betty, with her parents writing slanderous south side critiques and being a defector, wasn’t going to have it as easy.

Betty follows them quietly, politely, into the cramped living room where clothes lay in haphazard piles on other furniture. She moves forward to shake Grandpa Topaz’s hand. The soft old man blinks at it for a second before reciprocating, and Jughead bites back a smile, wondering when the last time someone offered to shake his hand was.

“Hello Mr. Topaz. My name is Betty Cooper. Thank you so much for taking the time to talk to me today. I understand that the recent town celebration has a deep personal meaning in your life, and glosses over an underrepresented heritage in Riverdale. I’d be honored to hear your story today if you have time to share it with me.”

Her sincere gratitude earns an eye roll from Toni. She looks at Jug, _is this girl for real?_ He shrugs his shoulder with a small nod. That’s Betty. Nice and polite until you piss her off…but even then it’s 50/50 shot that she’ll just grin and bear it.

Betty sits, unzipping her backpack, the straps of which accidentally shift her shirt just enough to reveal a bruised shoulder. Those are fingerprint marks. Jughead swallows an impending panic, a desire to destroy her mother, her stupid boyfriend… _anyone_ who would do this to her. Toni notices too, her eyes flickering questioningly to Jughead. What is he supposed to say?

Biting his lip, then his fist, he tries to see beyond the red. He wouldn’t— _shouldn’t_ care, but it’s just…wrong. Someone did this to Betty— _Betty_ , who would split her lunch in half to share without question. While she asks Mr. Topaz thoughtful, engaging questions, recording his soothing, melancholy responses, Jughead texts Archie.

_J: You ever see this p.o.s. boyfriend hurt her? She has bruises on her shoulder_

_A: I dunno man, during the concert he was being super weird. But that’s like, normal for him. He STABBED Reggie_

_J: I know. So you think it was him or regular Cooper b.s.?_

_A: Now that I think of it I do remember he was clutching her shoulder pretty hard when they came back from wherever he dragged her._

_J: So what do we do? Kick his ass? Carve a reminder in his skull that it’s not okay to hurt girls?_

_A: I would…in a heartbeat, Jug, seriously. I have to prevent myself from doing it every day. But I’d get expelled, just like Reggie, and Betty would see me as the bad guy again._

_A: Lucas is a nut job, and he has the family of nuts behind him. I think we need to make sure Betty and the Coopers know just how bad he is or they’re gonna try and take this to the cops. You know how Alice hates me and she DEFINITELY would go after the south side._

As if the Sheriff and Mayor McCoy needed another reason to try and shut them down. Scowling, Jughead shoves his phone in his pocket. Toni watches him carefully, arms folded across her chest. Betty remains attentive, sympathetic, and Jughead’s throat goes dry with helplessness. He can’t just do _nothing_. At the end of the interview, Betty sincerely thanks the Topaz family for their time.

“I’ll send my draft to Jughead this evening or tomorrow at the latest. If there’s anything you feel uncomfortable with, please let me know.”

Even Mr. Topaz smiles then, shaking her hand warmly before she slides her backpack on again and nods to Toni, following Jughead outside.

“Be careful, Jones,” is all Toni offers them, shutting the door pretty quickly behind them.

It should be easier to breathe out here, but Jughead still finds himself struggling.

Betty offers him a small, tired smile. “Thank you. They seemed really nice, and I’m sorry that they don’t feel like Riverdale wants them. That…you don’t feel like Riverdale wants you. Because we do, Juggie. Well, I do. And Archie does too, even if we’re not at the same school anymore.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, kicking the dirt at his feet. “I can really feel the love.”

Unsure what to say, Betty falls into step beside him. “So…is Toni your girlfriend?”

“What?” He doesn’t mean it to come off as sharp as it does, but Betty flinches nonetheless. “No. Toni’s not my girlfriend. Boys and girls can just be friends, in case you don’t remember.”

Although Toni’d shown some serious interest in him when he first transferred, he got the skeevy feeling it was more about his relationship to his dad and the Serpents in general. Now that he’d joined, the whole gang had become just close friends. She's sort of his new best friend, come to think of it. She has an emotional capacity beyond anger, and he needs that in his life.

Betty bites her lip, turning it more red than pink. “I know, it’s just…you seem close, and this _was_ last-minute. I thought maybe she—or you—“ Betty shakes her head, deciding to veer into politeness again. “Well, thank you.”

“Yeah.” This isn’t… _fair_.

She clears her throat, not sure how far they’re walking together. “I better get going I guess.”

“Your _boyfriend_ waiting?” He can’t keep the disdain out of his voice. She blinks at him, waiting for an explanation for his behavior. Grunting to himself, he finally turns and asks, “Betty, what do you see in that guy? Is it just because he has money? He has nice grades? His dad’s a lawyer?”

Surprise colors her cheeks. “N—no. Oh my god, is that what you think?”

“I don’t know what to think, Betts. You’re cutting of contact with your best friend, tackling football players, and today you showed up with bruises. Is this guy messing with you? Is he hurting you, Betty?”

Shocked, her hand immediately goes to her shoulder, covering the flesh, checking if it’s visible. “I didn’t—no. I’m sure he didn’t mean to.”

“You’re _sure_? Because that sounds an awful lot like something a battered woman would say.”

“I’m not a _battered woman_ ,” she protests indignantly.

He gestures to her shoulder. “The guy drags you around like you’re a piece of property, tells you you need to weigh less, not to talk to your friends, and grips you so hard you have _bruises_. That seems kinda fucked up to me.”

“It was _one time_ , _one fight_ and it was an _accident_! That doesn’t make it an abusive relationship!”

“What are you _thinking_ Betty?! Are you really that delusional?” Archie warned him about going on the offensive, but he can’t help himself. “This guy is isolating you. It’s classic gas-lighting bullshit. _I didn’t mean to. I thought you liked it rough. You know I love you. They don’t understand you like I do._ It’s fucking bullshit and it pisses me off.”

Her eyes go steely, but he can sense he’s touched a nerve. “What do you know about Lucas? Or me, for that matter?”

“Please, I know you.” He could write a novel—probably an endless amount of novels about the intricacies of Betty Cooper. But he sees the way she swallows, unsure, and he pushes onward, more to protect his own insecurity than anything else. “And I know enough guys _like_ him.”

“All you know about him is that he got into a couple of fights and he wears blazers. You don’t _know_ him.”

“Are you kidding me? The guy dresses like a prep, kisses ass like it’s a profession, takes out people he disagrees with, and has the nerve to insinuate that he should have a say in how you look. What else should I know?”

“Just because he has some health concerns—“

“What, like your mother does? Because we know that’s how much she cares about _you_ …it’s not about _her_ image at all.”

Looking stricken, Betty backs away from him. Is it too much to want to hug her? Pat her on the non-bruised arm or something? Feeling desperate, he takes one step closer.

“Look, Betty…I’m sorry, but I'm not used to feeling...protective, if that's the right word for it," he sighs, feeling physically _pained_ to admit anything resembling affection for her. "It's like someone is working their way into your life and hurting the people on the edges, hurting _you_ in an attempt to get closer to you or sate some weird golden age American image they're trying to project. I know we’re not best friends or anything. Hell, we’ve barely reconnected, but that guy seems like an asshole with anger management issues. Presented with the same evidence, just a different guy, you'd be worried too. Outside of the Ken doll packaging, what do you see in him?”

Voice clogged in her throat, she turns away. “I mean…he gets me. We both…struggle with the same things. Being _perfect_ ,” a tear slides down her cheek and she tries to wipe it away before he can see. “He was really supportive. And I hate to admit it, but it’s nice finally being someone’s first choice, someone’s future. He’s always telling me I’m the best, and we’re the best when we’re together. He challenges me. He wants to take care of me. Even though he's intimidating, he can be the most tender person I've ever met. He loves me.”

“Betty,” Jughead says softly, something swirling in his ribcage. “Everyone who meets you can’t help but love you...admire you.” _Like me,_ an internal voice declares boldly, but he buries that before it blooms into something larger. “But that doesn’t mean they treat you right. You don’t need to be taken care of. Love isn’t controlling someone. You can make your own decisions about your future, about who to be with. You don’t have to pick someone your parents will approve of just because it guarantees some white picket fence and suburban fantasy.” When she doesn’t say anything, that thing inside of him tightens painfully. “Unless…that’s what you want.”

Tears streak less stealthily down her cheeks. Her hands cling onto the straps of her backpack as if she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. “Everyone keeps telling me what I _should_ want. I’m figuring it out, okay?”

A boyfriend who doesn’t try to kill people would be a start. But he can see she’s been pushed all she can today, and besides—he’s in a gang, it’s not like he can talk. Suppressing a sigh, he finally puts a hand on her non-bruised shoulder, calming her shaky breaths even as his thumb drifts into her collar. “Promise me you’ll keep your eyes open? I know you said you’re not perfect, and neither is he, but that doesn’t mean you owe each other some infinite loyalty. Everybody’s got their damage. You can’t appreciate what things could or should be. You have to look at them for what they are.”

"I do," she shakes her head. "Everything has potential. Every choice has a potential reaction."

"Yeah. It does."

Watery eyes meet his as she nods solemnly. He knows it’s hard, he knows she’s loyal to a fault. He knows she’s smart, but she’s also emotional. Part of him wants to cup her cheeks, smooth away the tears there. But he’s just…Jughead. He shouldn’t be touching her like that. He’s not sure he’s ever touched anyone like that, except maybe his little sister before she moved away. Although he’d love to believe his rekindled affection for Betty Cooper is because he views her as a sister, he’s too self-aware to delude himself it’s that easy. This infatuation is as much a fantasy as hers is with Lucas, or as it was with Archie. Still. He can be her distant south side friend, and she can find her own path to happiness sans some psycho prep.

Feeling bizarrely guilty, he walks her all the way back to the library.

Tears finally dry, her eyes only have the faintest hint of pink around them when she turns and offers him a smile. “You can stay if you want.” Even her voice sounds exhausted as she locates a suitable study station. “But Lucas is going to meet me at 2:30 so…you probably don’t want to meet the worst guy ever.”

Sighing, Jughead rolls his eyes and tries to muster up some patience.

“If you want me to, if it’ll somehow change my opinion of him, I will. But I get the feeling he won’t appreciate meeting any of your male pals.” From the way she shifts her bag, he knows he’s right. “But I’ll hang out for a few minutes. Besides, South Side High’s library sucks. We have like three copies of Catcher in the Rye and no Shakespeare.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it. And uh, Betty?” She blinks at him, face blank. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re smart. I just think he’s sneaky.”

“Thanks,” she replies carefully, and he can feel her gaze on him even as he disappears into the stacks, crawling up his neck like warm fingers at the base of his neck. Through the shelves, he watches her tense at her seat, thinking through something. Ever-graceful, she makes her way through the stacks, plucking something off a shelf before continuing her path. Even with just strips of her visible, he treasures every glimpse of even her jean-clad knee. It’s like even the pieces of Betty Cooper are wholesome. Not innocent, exactly, but _good_. Not because she has to be, she just _is_. It’s like she’s everything Riverdale _wants_ to be. The town full of pep! It’s a wonder she’s never ventured into cheerleading…although Mrs. Cooper probably had something to say about that.

Betty reappears, whole, at his side, jerking him out of his reverie. Thankfully he has a book in his hands or he’d really look stupid.

“I have a recommendation.”

“Don’t tell me it’s _The Outsiders_ ,” he manages to smirk.

“Close.”

Jughead arches an eyebrow. “Is there something about me that screams _I like to go to the drive in and wax philosophic_?”

“I think you’ll like it,” she swallows nervously, dangling it by the spine until he grabs for it.

His fingers smooth over the cover, getting used to the expectation of an actual recommendation. This is the first time since he’s been really little that anyone’s actually put any thought into a recommendation for…anything. His schooling. Books. Music. Films. His eyes trace the cover, ignoring the Young Adult tag as he flips it over to read the back.

_That Was Then, This Is Now by S.E. Hinton: Since childhood, Bryon and Mark have been as close as brothers. Now things are changing. Bryon's growing up, spending a lot of time with girls, and thinking seriously about who he wants to be. Mark still just lives for the thrill of the moment. The two are growing apart - until Bryon makes a shocking discovery about Mark. Then Bryon faces a terrible decision - one that will change both of their lives forever._

Betty shifts against the stacks, looking dreamily at the book in his hands. “It’s an indirect sequel to The Outsiders. And it’s sad. But it’s good. I thought maybe…because you and Archie or whatever.”

“Did you make Archie read it?”

Laughing, she shakes her head. “As if I could get Archie to read anything. He'll barely finish his English homework.” Her teeth worry her bottom lip, gaze fixed on Jughead’s hands. “Maybe  _you_ could recommend it to him.”

“All right. _If_ I like it.” He snaps the book closed, tucking it under his arm.

Bordering on giddy, her fingers reach for another shelf. “Oh! Well, if you like that, you might like—“

“Betty. Let’s take this one book at a time, all right?” he smiles genially, loving the way her face lights up when she talks about books.

“All right,” she amends, expression softening. For a moment he just takes it in: Betty Cooper between the book shelves, everything about her gentle, pastel, and glowing.

Eventually, when he leaves, he taps her table and offers her a smile.

“Stay gold, Ponyboy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jughead and Lucas will interact more directly in the next chapter because I can't wait to watch the sparks fly! Woo! Also it's been surprisingly hard to write these chapters because Betty IS so ride or die that I think it'll be REALLY hard for her to leave Lucas or even consider it when she has no room for error in her life, so Juggie and Archie better step up their game! PS I love Kevin Keller and his post-Innuendo exhaustion. I imagine he was pretty low key at Pickens Day, just hanging with his dad who kept trying to suggest he go off and hang with kids so he could spend time with the one-track-mind Mayor McCoy. Lucas would LOOOVE to tell her about his five thousand step plan to improve the town. First step: Expel all redheads XD He's bitter like that. Betty on the other hand is in denial, like, "Oh he only was about to kill someone because it was an intense situation" and "ohhhh he's only being possessive because I liked it that one time and my ex-bestie may be stalking me" but inside the wheels are a-churning in panic mode. Also in case it wasn't clear Toni and Jug never dated, she just flirted and he kept pushing people away because he thought people flirting with him were just using him to get to his dad.
> 
> Comments are writer food so please let me know what you think ^-^ Also...what does Riverdale DO at Pickens Day besides eat popcorn and caramel apples? I just took it as a picnic. They must have fifteen weird holidays that the writers are going to come up with...I mean, these ARE the same people who named a drug Jingle Jangle and pretended to know who the serial killer of the season was without...actually...knowing *cough* Now I'm hungry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty and Kevin visit the south side to meet Kevin's new beau, running into an old friend with a few secrets. Lucas takes a trip of his own to the south side to investigate.

_ “The supreme happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved; loved for ourselves—say rather, loved in spite of ourselves.”   ― Victor Hugo, Les Misérables _

_ “She loved with so much passion as she loved with ignorance. She did not know whether it were good or evil, beneficent or dangerous, necessary or accidental, eternal or transitory, permitted or prohibited: she loved.”   ― Victor Hugo, Les Misérables _

* * *

Lucas’s intense gaze makes her nervous, distracted. It’s like he’s _waiting_ for her to make a mistake. The sting of a cut shoots through her like red-hot shame.

“Give me that,” he sighs, dragging her over to the sink, washing the cut gently. His large hands move with purpose, and to her surprise he has very few callouses, only the ones where he grips his pen so hard they sometimes snap. Watching him curiously, she wonders if he could do the same to her fingers.

He looks so natural in this house, in this life. This is all so domestic, and if she didn’t feel embarrassment licking up her throat she’d probably find it endearing.

“Be careful. You need to _focus_ ,” he amends firmly, wrapping her in a band-aid and kissing the hand with just a hint of exasperation.

Alice surveys the cutting board, sighing deeply. “Oh, Betty. You made a mess of the carrots. I’ll start it again.” The accompanying eye-roll makes Betty feel like she’s five years old.

“I can do it, Mom. It’s just a little cut.”

Alice dumps the wasted carrots into the garbage bin, tossing the cutting board into the sink with a vehemence that implies Betty’s supposed to wash it immediately. “No, allow _me_. Clearly your mind is a thousand miles away. Although why it’d be there when you have enough going on right here is beyond me. Did you finish your homework?”

“Yes.” Betty prepares herself for the hot water from the faucet, because only _scalding_ water was good enough to sanitize blood.

Her mother moves swiftly, efficiently as she gets the vegetables ready. “I swear, Betty, your mind is so scattered sometimes. Why do you need to study in the library when you have a perfectly lovely desk your father and I got for you? Have you been taking your medication?”

Betty stiffens in annoyance, the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention. Her gaze flickers to an impassive Lucas. How is he not embarrassed to listen to this? “I haven’t needed it.”

“Maybe you could consider it,” Lucas offers carefully over the insistent hiss of the faucet.

“What? I thought you said it diminished the accomplishment of—“

“Not everyone exceeds expectations without a little help. Your focus had been drifting even before Reggie’s attack, and that certainly didn’t help things.” From his expression, he’s trying to be logical, but the insinuation strikes her that he thinks she’s been undisciplined. Is it because she hasn’t let him _punish_ her for their disagreement this weekend? He’d been cool and focused in the library.

“There’s no shame in correcting your attention to where it needs to be,” Alice continues lightly, the vegetables already sliced and diced before Betty’s even finished rewashing the cutting board. Everyone notices.

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” she manages shakily, finishing scrubbing. “I mean, I still have all A’s.”

Lucas drops the chicken on its other side, the sound of sizzling vegetable oil setting her on edge. His gaze is hard, unemotional. “It’s not just about grades. I’m worried about you, Betty. You slipped up on the vegetables, you haven’t been as supportive at the Register. I’ve seen you in class. It takes all your effort just to stay on top. Maybe you should spend less time gossiping with Kevin or printing the Blue and Gold. Perhaps you’d like to free up some of that effort for other things.”

His voice is laced with just a hint of judgment.

“I’ll look into it.” Gritting her teeth, Betty scrubs harder than necessary at the next cutting board her mother dumps in the sink. It strikes her as ironic that they’d have her doing the wash, the rubber gloves making her fresh cut sweat, the band-aid already slipping from the damp heat. Isn’t this bad for her?

The next thought strikes her violently.

_Is all of this bad for her?_

* * *

After dinner, she and Lucas clear plates while Alice heads off to do some edits. “You’ll keep an eye on her, won’t you Lucas?” Alice confirms, as if Betty’s still a little girl and he’s babysitting.

“Of course,” he nods pleasantly, eyes squinting with the effort.

When they’re done, Lucas and Betty wordlessly retreat to her room. She’s not sure what to expect and wipes her palms on her pants, conscious of the peeling band-aid and stinging reminder of her failures. “So…what do you want to do?”

“I'm amenable to suggestion,” he says softly,brushing some nonexistent hair behind her ear and leaning in for a kiss. It’s slow, controlled. Feeling nervous, she lets him lead her, push her further into the room until his hands are on her breasts.

“Lucas,” she moans breathily, still not sure if she’s up for this. But it does feel good. And the only other options she can think of are trying to drag out another conversation while he’s still in a mood or watching another TED talk. He could beat her at chess. But she doesn’t want to _think_. Fisting into his shirt, she squeezes her eyes shut and tries to drown out everything else with just the sensation of touch.

Unbidden, the words strangle out of her throat. “You didn’t mean to hurt me, right?” The words pause his administrations, his pale eyes opening to study her carefully. Swallowing thickly, she removes her shirt and shows him her shoulder.

His pupils dilate, voice catching in his throat. “That’s from those jocks, Betty. I’d never hurt you unless you wanted me to.”

“This is from Pickens Day,” she says quietly, firmly. He shifts uncomfortably, clearly trying to work through what to say. If he even remembers. “You got so angry…and this isn’t exactly the first time you’ve lashed out. Are you…okay?”

His fingers trace her bruises with a surprising amount of carefulness, as if he’s catching up to his place on a page. Eventually, he meets her gaze again. “I must have…had a black out or something. Whatever this is, it isn’t bad.”

Tension cackles through her veins, forcing her shoulder up in a half-shrug, but really it’s pushing the evidence closer to him. His thumb pushes in, testing her sensitivity. Hissing, she pulls away. Eyes alight in alarm, he moves his hand to her unblemished skin.

His voice takes on a soft, careful quality. “Sorry. Sometimes I feel like I love you so much I can’t process anything else, and that scares me. Maybe it scares you too.” He must be able to sense her fear, her increased heartbeat. “But I do love you, Betty. Sometimes my emotions must get the best of me. I don’t even realize I’m doing it. But I can do better. Communication is key in any relationship.”

His chin tilts up, and for a second he looks so _confident_ that she wonders if he really _can_ just wrangle his emotions in like that. Pressing a gentler kiss on her mouth, Lucas wraps his arm tightly around her waist, his other hand trailing up to her neck.

“As long as you stop provoking me, everything should go back to normal,” he murmurs, mouth open on her skin.

Shuddering, she clambers against his chest. “I didn’t—I’m not _provoking_ —“

His grip tightens on her. “Your behavior at the club? Your parents’ party? And talking over me at Pickens Day? You never consider what _I_ want, how your actions and disrespect impact me…and our relationship,” he says levelly, eyes shining. Betty’s heart thunders in her chest. Is he serious? Is she the one sinking their relationship? “When you say something that demeans me, it makes me feel like I’m nothing, that everyone sees me as nothing. How can I be the best boyfriend without the best girlfriend at my side? When you reject my success, ideas, and ambition, you’re disparaging _us_.”

She flounders, needing to comfort him with those wet eyes. “No, that’s not it at all. Anyone who’s met you knows that you’re brilliant. Including me,” she assures him. Arms pinned against his chest, she can really only caress his chin. “It’s just…if I accidentally upset you, it doesn't give you the right to harm me. That’s…”

_Abuse._

The word sinks to her stomach. That’s not something…she’s prepared to think about. There’s no way she would be in this relationship, that everyone outside of Archie and Jughead would think they’re the cutest couple if this was…bad? Right? Even her parents?

Lucas swallows, nodding tearfully. “I know. Just because you hurt me, doesn’t mean I should hurt you. Let’s promise not hurt each other.”

Everything clenches shut inside of her uncertainly. Of _course_ she’d never hurt Lucas intentionally. But…he says he didn’t hurt her on purpose either. So how is this promise going to protect them? “Okay,” she manages softly. “But if these are accidents…how are we going to prevent them?”

“By being good to each other.” Lucas nuzzles his nose against hers. “Cherishing each other.” His mouth nudges hers, asking for entrance. Hesitant, she kisses him. “Forgiving each other,” he adds, voice gruff in between the soft kisses.

A small noise escapes the back of her throat. On instinct, she pulls away. Is he… _expecting_ this to happen again? Do they have that little self-control? Will they ever…be good enough to not hurt each other? Or are all relationships like this? The only serious long-term relationship amidst her acquaintance is her parents'. So it can be done. Coopers can make a relationship work. Betty  _wants_ to talk out their problems…work on them where she can.

Looking into his eyes, she tries to apologize in earnest. “I’m…sorry.”

Chuckling, pleased, he nuzzles against her. “Perhaps you’re not the only other one who could navigate some nervous energy after that attack. The way you threw yourself at them to save me…” His mouth finds her pulse point, warm breath making her heart race. He’s moving slow, testing their pace. “You were so brave.” His teeth graze her skin, making her shiver, but whether from anxiety or desire, she still isn’t sure.

“I thought…I thought you were going to slit that guy’s throat.”

“Maybe I would have,” he muses thoughtfully, reaching around to unclasp her bra, caressing the skin underneath.

“You would have?” her breath hitches, suddenly afraid.

“I’d do anything for you, Betty.”

 

* * *

 

Smoothing her hair back into her ponytail, Betty takes a deep breath and prepares for a new kind of research. _How to achieve happiness._ There are so many articles, almost all of them citing some version of _be true to yourself_. It’s not…particularly helpful.

Feeling restless, article and homework finished a long time ago, Betty bites her lip and sits back. Afraid that typing it out will cement a twisted thought, her fingers hover over the keys. She takes it one word at a time. _Am…I…in…an…_

She doesn’t have to type the rest of it out. The suggested question glares at her from the computer screen. _An abusive relationship_?

Feeling sick, she closes her eyes. _No._ Deleting the question, she types a new one. _How to help someone with…_

Depression. Anger Issues. Anxiety. ADD. She flits through some articles, absently twirling the ring on her finger until it pops loose, the clang of it hitting the desk surprising her. Quickly putting it back in place, she belatedly realizes she’s a little _afraid_ to be caught without it on. It’s not like anyone would _know_. Still…when she’d taken it off to help chop vegetables, both Alice and Lucas had chastised her into keeping it on, that anyone with enough sense and focus should be able to chop with a ring on.

But she wasn’t. Maybe she’s deficient in some way. Not enough.

Before, she used to think that her mother was just over-demanding. But if Lucas can meet these crazy expectations, why can’t she?

_Value yourself_ , she reminds herself to resist digging into her palms.

Her reading material delves into the science of self-agency. Apparently intelligence and self-control are in different parts of the brain. She’s been having trouble reigning in her focus _because_ of her tattered friendships, strained family, and romantic expectations. The impulse to stop her internal rage slices into her palms instead of the people she’s frustrated with, even if they make her angry at herself.

Lucas has been having trouble letting go of his control on _her_ and the future. It makes sense, since he’s had to move around so much. This is probably the first somewhat stable environment he’s seen, so whenever he senses her drifting away he can’t control his desire to keep her close. He instinctively lashes out on the _external_ like clenching her hand or bruising her shoulder. Maybe…maybe now that she understands it a little better, they can work through this.

Maybe.

She feels exhausted.

Maybe she should go to bed. But she wants to _fix this_. Fix _them_.

A little voice in her head, a familiar one that’s usually laced with sarcasm asks, _Why?_

Because she can't fail at this too. Lucas loves her. She loves him. That should be enough. They just have to work a little harder.

Maybe Lucas needs more friends, more opportunities to connect with people with outside interests. Nothing where he can _the best_ or _win_. Normally she’d encourage him to help the local scouts since he’s already earned his Eagle Scout certification but Dilton Doiley is probably the least likely person to help him chill out. Lucas has never really gotten close with their classmates, but maybe if he did he’d focus a little less on enhancing whatever future he’s constructed in his head. Betty needs her friends again…especially without her sister to help her against the constant onslaught of her mother’s (and now Lucas’s) orders.

Sitting on the window ledge, she starts texting Kevin. Maybe he’s up this time of night. Her leg accidentally brushes the curtains, and she realizes she hasn’t had it open in almost two weeks. Carefully, she peels it back, her eyes immediately drawn to the soft light of Archie’s window.

He’s shirtless (as is usual) and wearing pajama bottoms, propped up against a chair and frowning at a book. Archie’s _reading_? Tilting her head, she tries to get a better look at what it is. He glances up, features arching in surprise. Embarrassed, she gives him an awkward wave. He’s done what she’s asked. He’s stayed away. And he is—was—her friend.

She’s tempted to text him, ask him what the book is, but Archie’s smile forces another figure to pop up from his place on the floor to see what he’s looking at. Juggie! Betty’s face lights up in a grin, and she waves with a little more pointedness at their expectant faces. The boys are _reading_ together! Well, Jughead’s probably forcing Archie into it. But still…that means he probably liked her book enough to share it with Archie.

She tries to suppress the flutter of pride rising through her. At least she did one thing right this week.

 

* * *

 

“Did you see that?! She waved at me!” Archie grins, giddy as a little kid.

“She waved at _us_ ,” Jughead smirks, trying not to relish that her smile had brightened when she saw _him_. How often did _that_ happen on the north side of town? Never.

“The plan must be working. I mean, I saw Lucas go in there today, but he didn’t stay as long as he normally does. Betty didn’t even walk him to the car. And now she even opened her curtains for a minute. Do you think they’ve broken up?”

Jughead quirks an eyebrow. “Have you gone full-on  _Rear Window_ stalker mode? You’re overreacting. It’s just one day. Let’s see what happens this week.”

“It’s something you said. It has to be,” Archie keeps going, too energized to sit still. He’ll be impossible to get to sleep now unless Jughead forces him to run around the block or something. Still, it’s humbling to think that something he said _may_ have had an effect on her. “I told you! Maybe we won’t even need your south side bros.”

“Bros?” He wonders what Sweet Pea and Toni would have to say about that.

“You know what I mean,” Archie shrugs, gaze continually shifting back to the pink curtains across the way like an eager puppy wanting to go for a walk. There’s no way they were going to get back to their books and psycho notes-swapping

But then a sick thought sinks through his stomach. “Archie…what would happen if she _did_ leave him?” At Archie’s quiet question mark, Jughead sits forward.

The only answer either of them seem to come up with is that it would be _bad._ Their little plan didn’t beyond the break up. This guy was potentially _lethal_.

“Shit.”

 

* * *

 

Kevin raises his hands in the air, slowly breathing with eyes half-closed as he steps through the metal detector. “We’re going to die.”

“Calm down. It'll be over before you know it.” Watching Kevin get all worked up over a boy was cute. Unusual. Lately the guys he liked always tried to hide him like a secret. This guy from the club actually seemed to be sticking around. “Besides, it was your idea for me to meet him properly, screen him to see if he could handle a double with Lucas.”

Ever since she’d gotten a boyfriend they’d been on the hunt for a double date. Even though Joaquin, a boy from Innuendo, is the best contender, apparently he's also in a gang. According to Kevin, his Serpent duties included cleaning a bar and looking fierce in leather to protect their territory. Maybe that’s a little lie Kevin tells himself to make himself feel better, but who is she to judge?

Absently rubbing her shoulder, Betty doubts that Lucas would find it acceptable to hang out with a gang member. Normally she’d be nervous, but everything’s felt so suffocating lately that she just wants to _breathe_ on one of the few days Lucas can’t have lunch because of his French Club duties. So her and Kevin planned a mini-date to South Side High.

Kevin trembles a little, torn between being fascinated and terrified. “I wanted a _date_. It's a little harder to imagine this as romantic when entering the location involves getting searched by my dad's peers,” he shudders, collecting his things from the bin as she does the same.

“At least that means there aren't any metal weapons around, right? Just forks and spoons?” Kevin's pointed look implies that may not be entirely true.

Regardless, they stick out like sore thumbs. In preparation for today, they'd dressed down in casual jeans and shirts, but it's still not enough. The lack of leather, plaid, fishnets or ripped denim still sets them apart. Betty gets the squeamish feeling she’s being targeted for something as simple as having a neat ponytail. Kevin _definitely_ shouldn’t mention his last name in here. From the skull and snake insignias scribbled on the lockers and across students’ skin, this school is a breeding ground for gang activity. Lurkers eye them in the halls, like lunch time means it’s time to feast on the weak.

“How much do you want to bet these kids have figured out how to gut someone with a plastic spoon?” Kevin whispers.

Betty loops her arm through his for support. “Then we go down together. For true love.”

“To getting laid…one last time.”

She flushes, thinking of Lucas and their last entanglement. Distracting herself, she squeezes Kevin’s arm. “Well, you said he’s a Serpent, right? Maybe he’ll protect us. A knight in leather armor.”

“Tempting. I’ll try to hold onto that image while we get past everyone who looks like they would kill us for a bag of Sour Patch Kids.”

“Stop,” she manages to chuckle, trying to hide her own apprehension. When he’d asked her to go to lunch at South Side to meet his beau, she thought it was just a downscaled version of Riverdale High. She hadn’t been expecting the metal detectors, the graffiti, the death-glares from people speckled in tattoos.

It wasn’t _fear_ so much as morbid intrigue that tickled through her veins. _This_ is where Jughead Jones transferred? She supposes his flannel and loose suspenders were nothing to squint at here, where people had bleached mohawks and flipped each other off in the hall.

Apparently physical affection isn’t a big thing at South Side High, and Kevin and her linked arms only set them more apart. Everyone stands at least three inches apart, body language casual, anti-social, and aggressive. A few punky looking boys light up something skunky in the stairwell, earning a startled gasp from Betty and wide eyes from Kevin. They look at each other and quicken their pace.

“So do you think you’ll meet any of _his_ friends at lunch today?” she asks lightly, trying to erase the anxiety in her veins.

“God, I hope not. One Serpent at a time. Besides, it’s still new. He still has a chance of fucking me and ditching me like everyone else does. I’m Riverdale’s best kept secret.”

His brilliant self-deprecating smile makes her ache a little. It’s a shame that no one’s really been _proud_ to be with Kevin. He’s gorgeous, smart, and witty. She knows from platonic experience that he’s a wonderful date. To hear him throw his self esteem out the window like that, his hope for relationships already ground to a fine powder before they really begin…it just makes her all the more determined to support him.

“Well it’s no secret he _likes_ you if this is date number six in just a few weeks. And he’s seeing you in public, meeting your friends. You went to Homecoming together. Besides, this date won’t be limited to a hookup. I hope.”

Kevin slips into his slightly more familiar debonair eye rolling. “No, Betty, we will not taint your not-so-virgin eyes by grinding in the lunch room like we did at the club.”

Shivering, she laughs. “Gross. I had just rinsed that night from my brain.”

“Please. You ended up with way more orgasms than I did that night.”

Startled, she nearly trips on her own legs as Kevin lights up, gesturing to Joaquin with his chin. He’s short and muscular with a soft, wide smile and sharp blue eyes. His shoulder-length hair looks _amazing_.

The new beau moves forward, relaxed, all smiles. “Kevin! And you must be Betty, if I remember correctly. Kevin’s told me a lot about you,” he assures her, nodding his head in acknowledgement of them both. It must be a south side thing. Physical touching like a handshake is probably a preamble to a violent encounter. Jughead was never big on touch either, unless it was her or Archie.

“It’s nice to finally see your face again,” Betty smiles, hoping that teasing is okay. The boys grin at each other, not even a _little_ embarrassed. “Kevin’s told me a lot about you too. Pretty much everything except what you like to eat. We practically live and breathe Pop’s.” _When I’m allowed_ , she almost adds, but it makes her sound five years old so she doesn’t.

“One of my friends is always talking about their burgers. Let’s get your books dropped off and then we can get out of here. Kevin tells me you packed us quite the spread.” His easy gentleness with Kevin as they move ahead of her makes her smile. Maybe he really _does_ like Kevin. And he should! Joaquin seems _nice_ and oddly tranquil for a gang member. Maybe he’s someone they can finally talk _to_ and not just _about_ in the post-hookup phase.

As they round the corner, Betty spots a familiar flash of pink hair. Hopeful, she scans and finds the iconic beanie she’s looking for, the face underneath relaxed and teasing. A greeting strangles in her throat when she sees the green flash of an insignia on his leather jacket, a jacket she’s never seen him in before. Her grin dies on her lips.

Jughead is a _Serpent_.

 

* * *

 

“I didn’t know Joaquin had to sacrifice a virgin to go on a double date with Keller,” Sweet Pea chuckles, nudging Fangs harder than necessary in the gut. They are always ribbing on each other.

“Hey, I’d take her out,” Fangs shrugs. “The guy’s cute too.”

Toni rolls her eyes in their general direction. “They’ll _hear_ you. Joaquin knows better than to introduce _you_ to his boyfriend, especially if he has to cater to the sheriff’s son and precious blondie’s delicate sensibilities.”

_Blondie? Keller?_

“Oh, shit,” Jughead mutters for the second time in 24 hours. He looks up, feeling like he’s having one of those hyper realistic dreams, because just behind Joaquin bobs a familiar blonde in a ponytail, green eyes curiously taking in everything around her. And then she’s taking in _him_ , her excitement morphing to frozen shock as she catches sight of his leather jacket.

_Shiiiiit._

He shouldn’t be ashamed. He really shouldn’t. The Serpents are his family, they’ve taken him in when his dad could barely function as a human, let alone a father. This jacket means more to him than he’d like to admit. If anything, he’s a little ashamed of hiding it, of wanting Betty to still think of him _a certain way_. To avoid that face. That slightly parted mouth, her eyebrows not sure whether to arch in surprise or furrow in consternation.

Joaquin must notice his stricken expression, because he gives him a _what’s with you_ look before leading his visitors into the poor excuse for a library. Betty’s just barely able to pick her jaw up off the floor to join them.

“What the hell is _she_ doing at South Side High?” Jughead asks aloud.

Toni eyes Jughead, unimpressed, even as Sweet Pea barks, “Better question is why the fuck are they going to the library?”

Always erring on the side of observant, Fangs rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “What’s up, Jones? You got a thing for blondes?” He might recognize her from the club that night.

“Fucking…shit,” Jughead mutters, tugging his beanie down and trying to decide how bad things are. It’s not like he lied to her (only by omission, right?) and they’ve only just reconnected. He doesn’t _owe_ her anything. Regardless, he moves past his friends and follows the trio to the library, feeling like a creep trying to locate them through the door window.

Betty’s sliding a bag of books towards the startled lackadaisical librarian.

He yanks the door open and follows in just to hear the tail end of, “A friend of mine said you might not have…some of the classics. So I brought some extra copies from Riverdale High and my own personal collection.”

“We do have a very impressive SparkNotes section,” Jughead finds himself announcing loudly.

Betty tenses, not quite turning all the way around. “Hi, Juggie,” she manages quietly, wrestling with something under the polite friendliness.

Joaquin sends him another questioning look and Keller looks like he’s trying to figure out why the hell he’s there at all. But Jughead doesn’t care about Keller’s reaction to the leather jacket, he only cares about the pensive blonde next to him.

“Looks like you’ll have some new material, Jones,” the librarian remarks dryly, looking over the pile with resignation. “Guess I’ll be sorting these into inventory today. Yippee.”

A little taken aback, Betty’s fingers twitch like she wants to take the books back, hug and love them instead of handing them over to this sad excuse of a bibliophile.

“Anything I’d like?” Jughead ask, trying to keep his breathing steady as he joins Betty at the checkout desk, barely keeping a hair of space between his arm and hers. She tenses but doesn’t pull away. Her eyelashes flutter hesitantly, still unsure if she should risk eye contact or not.

_Be brave_ , he wants to whisper to her. _Look at me, Betty. It’s still me. Not the old me, but it’s still_ ** _me_** _._

The librarian grabs a random selection from the pile. “Depends. How do you feel about _Wuthering Heights_?”

“A pining dramatic love story? Always been on my bucket list,” he chides, aware that his elbow keeps sneaking towards the girl to his right until it’s flush against her in a nudge. “Thanks, Betts. That was really solid of you.” 

“Whatever our souls are made out of, his and mine are the same,” Betty says quietly, earning strange looks from everyone around her. It’s like she’s just reached into his chest and started squeezing. “It’s in the book.”

Joaquin hides a smile whereas Kevin looks frankly befuddled by her outburst. Jughead tries to swallow the lump in his throat. This is flirting, right? It’s…flirting adjacent, at least.

Kevin clears his throat. “Jughead…nice to see you again. Betty and I were just visiting my boyfriend Joaquin for lunch so—“

“Sounds good. Where are we headed?”

Normally he’d classify this behavior as something more typical of an asshole, someone with an abundance of confidence and lack of personal boundaries. He’s never really been one to force himself into a situation but it’s coming surprisingly natural. He just needs to talk to her, to make sure they’re—she’s still okay. Maybe they’re more than okay, if that whole _souls_ comment was aimed at him.

“We’re—“ Kevin glances back at Joaquin, who’s biting back amusement and shrugging. “Betty brought us a packed lunch.”

“Betty’s famous cooking? You’re a lucky man, Joaquin. And so am I, for stumbling upon you when I did.” He hopes his smile comes off a boyish, charming, but Betty’s barely able to glance at him without hiding her lips. “Betty, books, and burgers. I thought this was supposed to be Joaquin’s dream date, not mine.”

_That_ makes her look up, eyes wide in surprise.

_See? It’s still me_.

“They’re sandwiches,” she clarifies.

He tosses a lazy wink at her. “Close enough.”

It takes her a while to blink, like she’s trying to see, trying to read him. And some kind of ashy molten tenderness churns inside of him, needing her to know something he isn’t even sure he knows himself.

“Well, nice to see you. I guess we should go,” Kevin insists, reaching blindly for Joaquin’s hand and coming up short.

Shaking his head, Joaquin briefly puts his hand on the small of Kevin’s back. Hand-holding isn’t really a _thing_ at South Side High. Couples either go at it with their mouths open or they don’t touch at all. “I know a good spot.”

They move as a unit, a frazzled Betty not sure where to look while she’s still working something out. Possibly that he definitely just came onto her while she most likely still has a boyfriend. And he’s a Serpent. That should last her until past lunch.

Jughead follows close at her side, feeling protective, like his leather jacket can somehow shield her the same way it envelops him like armor. The sounds of lockers clanging and raucous laughter set her further on edge, her fingers clutching the lunch bag even tighter.

“Want me to take that for you?” he offers.

“Don’t give it to him, Betty. We’ll never get it back,” Joaquin teases lightly.

Kevin finally turns, glancing uncertainly between the rest of his party. “Um, are you joining us, Jughead? I thought today was just going to be a bestie-boyfriend day. I’m not sure Betty’s made enough for your infamous appetite.”

Leave it to Keller to oh-so-subtly tell him he’s cramping their style.

“It’s okay. I packed a little extra just in case…” Trailing off, Betty shyly smooths just a bit more of her ponytail, sending a glance his way.

He can’t help but crack half a smile. She knew he went here. She made extra just in case he showed up. Things just keep looking up and up.

Thankfully he’s able to slide in next to Betty, his hand resting on the bench just at the point where he’d be supporting her back if she leans back. They divvy the spread, and Jughead’s frenzied attempts to read Betty are lost in the delicious rapture of her cooking. Of course she only eats half of her sandwich and a few grapes as she kindly engages with Joaquin in a more open way than she did with Mr. Topaz.

Under the steadiness of Jughead’s gaze, Betty wordlessly edges the other half of her sandwich to him. It’s pointless to insist that he doesn’t need it, because honestly he could eat another three of these things and she’ll probably need some kind of therapy to get over whatever body dysmorphia Alice and Lucas are imposing on her that makes her portion her food like this.

Fangs and Sweet Pea catch his eye from another table, Sweet Pea with palms upturned like, “ _What the hell, dude?_ ” Jughead takes a particularly satisfying bite of the juicy chicken sandwich, winks at them, and leans in closer to Betty. Just so he doesn’t upset precious Kevin Keller’s dream date, Jughead stays pretty quiet, letting Betty and Joaquin get to know each other. They’re all nice. They’ll get along fine. Joaquin doesn’t really read a ton, but he is _thoughtful_. He’s honestly a little bit _too_ laid back and nonjudgmental. He’d probably date a Ghoulie if they weren’t absolute trash.

“Betty and I have to be getting back. Her _boyfriend_ can get really jealous,” Kevin glances pointedly from the uncomfortable blonde to Jughead. So Lucas is still the _boyfriend_ …for now. Kevin leans over to kiss Joaquin’s cheek, who turns quickly enough to get his lips instead. The boys exchange a flirty smile, eyes wandering just wantonly enough without making Jughead want to gag on the last bit of sandwich.

Smiling despite his full cheeks, he wipes his crummy fingers on his palms and moves to assist Betty. “Let me help you clean up.”

“No, you don’t have to.”

“I insist,” he says firmly, letting Joaquin and get ahead, feeling a little hot under the collar for holding her hostage. Her teeth pry gently into her lip. Just a few more seconds until he can have a private conversation. “So what do you think of Joaquin?”

“He seems really nice,” she shrugs, watching the boys tease each other, flirting. “I’m just glad Kevin’s found someone’s who’s excited to be with him. Someone who will _go out_ with him. He deserves someone who treats him like the gentleman he is.”

“So do you.” From her warning expression, he figures it’s safer to switch into teasing. “As a lady, of course.” Her silence unnerves him, grates on his confidence. Feeling hope sink like his feet drawn into the muck of Sweetwater, he gestures to the jacket with his chin. “You know, just because he’s a Serpent doesn’t mean he’s not a good person.”

“I know,” she says quietly, thinking.

Not knowing what’s going on in there is driving him _crazy_. Back when he was writing all the time, he used to be able to read her easier. Now that they’ve had this distance, sometimes it’s like she’s another world away. “Say something, Betts.”

Exasperated, she finally hits him with the full force of those startling blue-green eyes. “It’s just—after all that talk about Lucas and the future…aren’t you doing the same thing?”

“What?” It takes him aback to even be _remotely_ compared to the freak he has yet to officially meet.

Her nails pick at the lunch bag, eyes scanning the rowdy halls. People look her up and down in a way that makes him want to flip them off. Her shoulders rise either in anxiety or a shrug. “Maybe you’ve made some of the same choices I have. You’ve…trusted people. People who are loyal, who make you feel special, who expect you to look and act a certain way. Most of the time, I’m sure it’s great. Normal, even. I can’t hold it against you. This place…this place is scary.“

Slouching, Betty looks dejectedly like she's punishing herself for not reading some secret clues like the detective she’s always hoped she’d be. She’s probably scolding herself, thinking she’s ignorant for hoping his little world would benefit from a book donation. He’s in a fucking _gang,_ at a school where the kids literally tattoo each other in the bathroom stalls rather than go to P.E.

As she lifts her chin, Jughead’s struck by the way the cheap neon lights dull her natural radiance, creating harsh hollows under her eyes to match his own. “There are probably days that aren’t great…days you have to fight or struggle or even sacrifice a little bit of yourself just to survive. Like maybe if you just do this one more thing that feeling that you’re safe and loved will stay. If it happened once with these people, with these things, then it can happen again and always. Just because your hands are covered in blood and you’re not sure if it’s yours or someone else’s, that doesn't mean it's not...worth fighting.” Her voice gets quiet, the brilliant blue-green of her eyes hidden beneath long soft eyelashes. “That’s just one day out of a lot of safe, happy ones.”

“W—what?” he repeats, mouth gone dry. Are these the dark thoughts floating around in Betty Cooper’s head? But the way her eyes are unfocused, lost, he wonders just how bad the incident with Reggie _was._ Or is this something else? “Betty, what kind of—none of that is okay. Not even a little.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” Her gaze wanders morosely towards the exit. “Most violence—gang or otherwise—is some kind of instinctual response to what people view as injustice. People like my mother just attribute it to some inherent failures in the people instead of a failure of the system. Not that she’d ever say anything like that about Lucas. She’d probably agree that he’s _provoked,_ whatever that means. And he is. So you’re right. Just because someone is in a gang or is prone to bouts of…justice-seeking…doesn’t mean they’re not a good person.” Jughead’s mouth falls open, his brain rattling for words like a slot machine that keeps coming up a loser. Betty lets out a startlingly apologetic laugh, delicate fingers raising to massage her temple. “I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to psychoanalyze. I’ve just been reading a lot, trying to figure this out.”

He’s painfully aware of the clump of saliva clinging to his tongue. These shouldn’t be the kinds of things Betty has to figure out. “The Serpents are a family, Betty,” he insists, feeling raw. Not _everything_ is broken. “I’m still allowed to be _me_.”

Her resigned, sympathetic smile cuts right through him. They may not let someone like _her_ join as herself without yielding to more expectations. But he’d been welcomed and encouraged to join them with open arms.

The introverted sardonic boy she knew in childhood had found a chrysalis shell in the form of a leather jacket and emerged a proud, fierce, rallying warrior. Not like Sweet Pea. Jughead still uses sarcasm and his brain over a right hook, but it’s there when it’s needed. _The Serpents_ are there when they’re needed. Now he’s part of the one family his father never let down.

Besides, Jughead likes himself more in the jacket, he likes how people respond to it. People respect him. The small-minded ones are intimidated. He has a built-in group of admirers, of allies. He’s the brain and the muscle. He’s the Serpent Prince. The only part of himself he loses is the insecure loser who let Reggie Mantle throw his hat in the mud and couldn’t do anything but hide his tears and fetch it back. Nobody wants that guy around.

Nobody except maybe Betty or Archie, by the looks of things. But he’s evolved beyond that.

When Betty takes up the mantle of being the future Mrs. Lucas Ward, she loses a part of herself, eclipsed by this projection of gracious prom queen and all-American honor student. There’s no room for error, no room to be sad. It’s just not… _human_. It’s not _Betty,_ all of her.

The same tools they use to “sharpen” Betty leave her bleeding. It’s not like he can say the Serpents never hurt him. Hell, they nearly killed him. But it was an initiation. They’re never allowed to hurt him again. That doesn’t necessarily mean he won’t get hurt _for_ them…in fact it’s almost guaranteed he will.

Something akin to understanding floats behind her watery gaze. “Do they make you feel like you’re more who you’re _supposed_ to be?” she asks, a wry smile not quite lighting up her face.

“Betty…”

There’s no right answer for this.

He closes his eyes sharply against the swelling confession in his chest.

_You’re enough. You’ve always been enough_.

Her voice waivers, head tilting in earnest. “Would you ever leave them?”

Horrified, he _can’t_ answer her. Panic climbs inside of him. _Yes_ , he wants to say. Just so she knows she can extricate from her supposed safety net of thorns, even if he’s happily tangled up in his.

But he can see it in her worried eyes…she knows what happens when people try to leave a gang, the people who’ve pledged loyalty with blood. Jughead’s never seen it, but he’s heard stories. They get beaten out, _worse_ than the god-awful bone-cracking gauntlet, and at the end their tattoo is sliced off of their skin. Maybe Betty anticipates a similar fate awaits her if she tries to get out of her Stepford life. The thought of Lucas with a box cutter, carving his name into Betty’s thigh makes bile leap into the back of his throat.

“It’s different. I’m…proud of my life.”

Betty nods once, sharply. “Bye, Jug.” With a decided sniff, she makes her way past the metal detectors and back into the sunlight.

 

* * *

 

The clap of feet scurrying down the hall before the bell rings only slightly distracts Lucas from hanging out in front of the classroom, waiting for his lady. His mechanical posture loosens the closer she gets, her back straightening at his touch.

“Bonjour, mon amí,” Lucas smiles, kissing Betty lightly on both cheeks before welcoming her back to class. She’s dressed casually in a baseball tee, slightly tattered skinny jeans, and Keds. It certainly wouldn’t hold up to Parisian standards, but she’s pretty nonetheless. “How was lunch with Kevin’s beau?”

Tone overtly perky, her face tightens in a smile. “It was great. He seems really nice.” She produces a tupperware container. “I saved you a lemon cookie, assuming you haven’t filled up on croissants.”

Hesitating, he smiles and takes one, instantly aware of the way it sticks to his fingers. He feels _dirty_ , but she smiles when he takes it so maybe he’ll take a few bites later and toss it when she’s not looking. “Mercí.”

“How was French Club?”

“I think we adequately covered the topics presented,” he says carefully. Truthfully it was a lively, occasionally multi-lingual dissection of Les Miserables. Even Mr. Butler joined in, impressed with the level of dissection on crime, punishment, and redemption. It’s a shame Betty takes Spanish. Perhaps he can convince her to switch…but then again if she knows Spanish and he knows French that means they had more _combined_ knowledge.

They have a perfectly pleasant, uneventful class up until Mr. Butler brings up the topic of their essays. “What I’m looking for is a _new_ take on an old story. For example, our very own Betty Cooper just wrote an excellent piece on Pickens Day for the Blue and Gold. A familiar heroic story of a beloved town hero, told from the side of the people he trampled to get there.”

Lucas’s eyes flash, glancing over at his girlfriend. _His_ article is going to be in this weekend’s Register so he hasn’t bothered confirming the latest Blue and Gold coverage. Still, it must be good if Mr. Butler’s bothering to bring it up in class. Betty shutters her expression under the praise, even as Mr. Butler continues to explain the impact of choices.

Twirling a ring with his thumb, images of Betty secretly meeting with Mr. Butler or some scum at Sunnyside trailer park filter quickly through his mind. They might even talk about Lucas himself, about how amazing (or inadequate) he is. And she’d be malleable, weak enough from his own hard work that she may be vulnerable to outside influence. Glaring at Mr. Butler, he scans him for any detection of weakness or hostility. But Mr. Butler is still involved in his lesson plan, no inordinate affection or wariness sent their way. Lucas’s notes jitter across the page, missing their mark. He’s losing every third word, filling the others with a slur of internal curse words.

_Fuckingshithellbitchstopthey’llseered_

His ears sing with the infinite raging possibilities. Checking her location via her phone isn’t enough. He needs to know what’s happening all the time, be able to _trust_ her enough not to run off on him. Loving her is _consuming_ him, enflaming him and warming him in a way that only praise and competition have in the past. Out of his peripheral vision, Betty’s watching him with a wary expression. His fingers curl tighter around the pen in his hand, knowing he _can’t_ show this weakness in penmanship to her. She _notices_ things.

The bell ringing breaks him out of the faux-concentration.

Before the words, “Are you okay?” can stumble out of her mouth, Lucas kisses her so soundly on the mouth that he can feel the smooth bones of her teeth resisting against him. His fingers cleave into the back of her skull, not hard enough to _really_ hurt, he has to remind himself. It’s never been a problem for him before… _actively_ needing not to destroy something. Not that those little bruises could really do her harm, but they tear at the seams of the relationship he’s so carefully constructed.

“You okay?” she manages as soon as he lets her breathe. He wants to remove the phrase from her vernacular—this endless desire to _fix_ people, to _fix_ things instead of analyzing them and filing the information away. Perhaps she does, on some level.

Oblivious to their classmates’ reactions, Lucas manages a small smirk. “Of course. Was that _not_ okay?”

“It was great,” she frowns, trying to figure him out. “Lucas…are you upset about the article?” Maybe Betty’s been wearing masks as long as he has, but certainly not with the risks behind it. If hers slips, people pity her. They’re disappointed. Annoyed at worst. If his so much as _cracks_ and he doesn’t take care of anyone who witnesses it, his whole _life_ could unravel.

“No. I’m so proud of you,” he intones pleasantly. “Making…friends. I'd love to hear all about it on the ride home.”

They kiss again, less desperately this time, Betty watching him cautiously before turning to head to Spanish class. Lucas hangs back behind the lockers, watching her go. Archie gets there before her and holds the door open (like he’s some kind of _gentleman)_. Betty smiles up at him, _thank you_ slipping from her lips, striking lightning-hot anger surging through Lucas’s veins. It’s the first time they’ve said two words to each other in the last few weeks. At least…as far as he knows. Archie isn’t the one who knows Betty _best_ anymore…nor is Kevin. Her brilliant mind is are reserved for _him._ Blood thunders in his ears like the beat of a war drum, but he can’t start by missing class.

 

* * *

 

White-knuckled, Lucas pulls up to the trailer park. When he’d dropped Betty off, he’d managed to extricate that she’d gotten her lead for the article from someone at the drive-in who lived out here. She said she didn’t remember the exact one, but the screenshot he’d taken of her location that day points him towards one of the smallest at the edge. His car probably costs more than three of these trailers put together, but he isn’t afraid of parking here for now. It’ll all be quick.

His fist knocks hard on the trailer. A weary old man comes to the door, only slightly loosening the knot in Lucas’s chest.

“Hello sir. My name is Lucas Ward. Are you Thomas Topaz?”

The man blinks, confused, at his outstretched hand before asking, “Why are you here?”

“I’m the fact checker for the Blue and Gold, sir. We didn’t have your phone number, so I wanted to stop by and ask a few questions regarding the conversation you had with Miss Betty Cooper.” Lucas smooths the front of his shirt. Thank goodness he was able to get an emailed pdf version of the article from Betty, bless her promptness, and read it at school in case he actually does need to ask anything outside of the realm of Betty. The old man doesn’t trust him, but probably only in the same detached way he doesn’t trust what Riverdale’s dubbed _north siders_.

The man doesn’t let him in, but he does answer the questions quickly and honestly, wanting Lucas to move on. Lucas is antsy. Fine. So this wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. Betty’s not having an affair. She’s not a better writer. She just…happened upon a story. “So you met Betty Cooper at the drive-in?”

“No. My granddaughter came to me about the article. I didn’t want to do it, but she trusted Jughead, and he trusted Betty, so I trusted them too.”

“Jughead?” Lucas repeats, fairly certain that’s the dumbest nickname he’s ever heard. But it does sound familiar, perhaps something from Betty’s diary. Specific details don’t come to mind.

“Wears a beanie. Last name Jones. Are we done?”

_Beanie_. That Serpent from the diner. His veins sizzle with satisfaction, hot on a lead. “Of course, sir. Thank you for your time and for your contribution to the Blue and Gold.”

Fists clenching, Lucas stalks through the trailer park. A few loiterers and kids coming home from school give him the once-over. Although the boys in Sunnyside spend a surprising amount of time on their hair, Lucas is too well-fed, too well-dressed for this neighborhood, and he sort of thrives on it. There’s nothing like the feeling of power that comes with knowledge, with money. It’s _success_ , the level of which these people couldn’t achieve even if they tried.

Eventually, Lucas finds his mark. A trailer designated, “Jones” based on the mail. No lights on inside. Lucas knocks with conviction. When nothing answers, he uses his own lock-picking skills to let himself in, closing the door behind and methodically going through the messy, bottle-laden living room for any sign of his girlfriend or the beanie-wearing miscreant trying to work his way into their lives. Filthy. At least _his_ useless father prefers the clean, nauseating smells of whiskey and vodka, not this gag-worthy cheap piss beer.

There’s only one bedroom. Going from the bottom drawers up to the top, he finds almost nothing of value—sentimental or otherwise. But there are a couple of photos tucked under the mattress. Lucas is expecting dirty magazines instead of well-worn polaroids, but his inner workings enflame when he realizes _why_ these photos are scattered between book pages and under the mattress like love letters.

In one of them, a freckled redhead kid laughs under the weight of a blonde in a ponytail, her arms and legs wrapped around him in abandon while a boy with dark hair halfheartedly pulls them back, the three of them a moving, unified force with the wide innocent glee of children. In another, the dark-haired boy with a beanie looks contemplative alongside a beaming blonde in a big sun hat. These are photos that might as well have been on Betty’s mirror a few months ago.

This _deviant_ was in cahoots with _Archie_. In fact, he’s probably the poorly dressed guy who disappeared into the projection booth at the drive-in with him a few weeks ago. Insecure freak is probably just as unwilling to let the past go as her neighbor. After all, Jughead still wears that stupid hat of his adolescence. They need to _grow up_. Betty is _his._ He knows her better than Archie, more intimately than Kevin. Lucas understands what she needs even more than her own mother. Who did this Jughead think he was to her? Some treasured friend and hero? Ingrates needed be taught their place.

With a flick of his wrist, Lucas turns on the gas stove and exits the trailer, leaving the polaroids to be burned along with the rest of this godforsaken place.

 

* * *

 

 

Jughead takes a break about halfway through the movie of the night, sending a quick text to Archie with a screencap of the light-haired menacing child on the screen, “ _Watching home movies of Lucas tonight_.”

Archie texts back an _lol_ , unaware that the glowing eyes on the screen are murderous ones using mind control. An alien invading a small town. Much to Jughead’s chagrin, he feels the cold chill of failure wrack his bones. Betty’s conflicted about feeling safe, feeling loved, and choosing to overlook violence for the sake of better days. What is he supposed to do at this point? Pine forever? Build an inner mental and emotional brick wall, much like the protagonist of tonight’s horror flick?

He’s typed and deleted about four different texts to her, all a variation of _please take care of yourself_ …since he’s pretty much useless at it. Sighing, he goes over their after-school exchange:

J - _Any chance you and Kevin want to come to the drive-in tonight? I can probably convince Joaquin. I’ll get you the good stuff. It can be our little secret ;)_

The winking emoji is a bit much for him, but his raging heart had demanded it.

_B - Sorry, Jug. It’s not a good time._

_J - You both have your designated deputies tonight? I get it._

The conversation marks _read_ but she hasn’t responded since. He rolls his neck around to stretch, trying to think what else to say. If there _is_ anything else to say.

_J - Archie and I finished your book. It was good. Makes me worry what you’re trying to say about our relationship though._

_B - At least it got him reading. Would you like me to suggest another?_

He pauses, letting his tongue trace his teeth. Her response is formal, but at least it’s engaging.

_J - Yeah I guess so. But that means you have to read one for me._

_B - Yes! Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison_

_J - Ok, why?_

_B - She’s my favorite author! Amazing!!! SoS explores how people are shaped by where they came from, but they shouldn't belong to the past. “Milkman” is the main character, third of his line. Lives on the south side of town. Thought you’d appreciate it :)_

_J - Milkman? Jughead? am I some angsty nostalgic gangster to you Betty? How the mighty have fallen_

_J - Do you think Riverdale Library is even going to have it? Or will I be relegated to spending my hard-earned movie money?_

_B - You can borrow mine_

_J - Great. Can I stop by tonight?_

The ellipses of the notification of her writing a response keep flashing and disappearing. Nervous, he starts tapping his feet against the ground.

_B - I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Aren’t you supposed to be working?_

_J - After. Unless you want to stop by the projection booth._

_B - After’s okay. As long as it’s not too late. I look forward to your selection_

_J - Yeah well don’t be surprised if it’s about a Hitchcock blonde_

His phone pings, and for one stupid second he thinks it’s her. Instead, Archie’s goofy face lights up next to their conversation.

A - _so we’re going to keep trying, right?_

Jughead sighs, wanting to bum a cigarette off his friends just so he can take the edge off.

J - _I just don’t know what to say without scaring her off. You know Betty. She’s loyal to a fault. She’s smart enough to know he’s an emotional time bomb but involved enough to believe that ultimately he’s a force of good._

A - _so what do we do? I have back-up plans. Friendtervention? Get Keller to look up his history with his dad’s resources?_

J - _he does love the drama…although he was hoping to go with them on a double date, so he may not be keen to out Lucas as a psychopath_

There’s not guarantee any of this would even convince Betty. He knows the cycle of abuse. He’s witnessed it up close with his mother and father. It took almost a decade for his mother to finally make the break. God, he hopes Betty is smarter than that. She’s certainly more compassionate. Someone like Betty wouldn’t leave a kid in the care of an addict…separating them from—

The thought depresses him, makes him nauseous. People change. Abuse changes people. He tries to focus on the rest of the drive-in.

Fangs is flickering a lighter and telling Sweet Pea to shut up while they play cards and smoke off to the side. Jughead spots a lithe well-dressed teen scanning the crowd by himself on the edges of the park. Nobody comes to the drive-in _by themselves_ …not unless they’re drunk or a pervert. Even then, the Serpents usually escort them out. Then the figure shifts, mechanical and predatory…familiar.

J - _where IS Betty tonight?_

A - _i dunno. it’s a tuesday. hw?? light in her room is on._

J - _her bf is here but there’s no one else in his car. Doesn’t strike me as a movie guy_

Just then Lucas’s eyes light on his own, expression what he can only describe as triumphant malice. Jughead’s face instinctively tightens, as does his fist. Lucas creeps towards the projection hut as if he’s just going up to concessions to get a snack, but Jughead knows better. He’s never even talked to the guy, but Lucas looks at him like he _knows_ him.

_Well I know you too, fucker,_ he wants to tell him. Instead, he texts Archie.

J - _Answer your phone. Record it or get Betty and Kevin in on it okay? Do NOT talk._

Unsurprisingly, Lucas swerves towards Jughead, feigning trying to place him, one finger pointing in his general direction. “ _Jughead_ , right?”

Starting, Jughead sits up a little straighter. He knows his _name_? Part of him wants to signal his friends for backup, but a bigger part of him is craving this confrontation, the opportunity to beat the abusive p.o.s. worse than he’s bruised Betty.

His voice clipped, eyebrow arching, he stares Lucas down. “Yeah. Do I know you, pal?”

The highlights of Lucas’s hair seem almost eerie in the drive-in’s light, the actual resemblance to the monsters on the screen glaringly obvious…even the inhuman smile resting easily on his lips. “I think you know my girlfriend. Betty Cooper?”

Better not to give him anything.

Lips curling in patient amusement, Lucas moves a little closer. “I understand you’re to thank for helping with her article for the Blue and Gold. Interesting take on victimization…especially considering the Uktena are almost exclusively gamblers and thugs. But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” The teen’s eyes gleam in the dark, and Jughead has yet another reason to want to pummel him into the dirt. “That’s the reason Pickens didn’t hesitate to exterminate them in the first place. They were a blight on society. Scalping…mutilating settlers. _Vicious_ stuff. And they never really _stopped,_ did they?”

Stiffening, Jughead wills himself not to throw a fist at this guy’s face. At least years of bullying have taught him to keep a _somewhat_ cool head in the face of mockery. He has to catch whatever elitist things this guy has to say in the _hopes_ it might do something to help Betty and not _just_ insult everyone he cares about. Still, he can’t help just one little jab. “Guess nobody had the box cutter of justice handy.”

Lucas smirks, enjoying the opportunity to monologue. ”Back in the day the Uktena blamed the settlers for buying up the land they failed to stake a claim to. Now their descendants war over drug territory and blame north siders for buying houses they can’t afford. Because everyone knows they can’t get hired anywhere that pays above minimum wage with a record reading like theirs. So they try to get back at the employers. Paint _them_ as the villains, try to get the kids addicted to drugs to feed their bad habits…completely oblivious to the way their own failings have dug them into poverty and an early grave. Their homes are probably filled with more beer bottles than love,” he remarks rather pointedly, striking low and sure. “More shifts spent getting high at a bar instead of working at their job.”

Jughead’s heart leaps in his throat, and he tries to swallow it back down. How the _hell_ does this asshole know about his father? His voice comes out low, vibrating with anger. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m a man of research, Jughead. A brief tour of Sunnyside trailer park with Thomas Topaz was enlightening, to say the least.”

This succubus leech planting his poison at Sunnyside is enough to roll his stomach. And involving Thomas Topaz? An innocent old man who’s barely able to live in a trailer the size of a janitor’s closet? Somehow he’d expected Lucas to be classier than that.

Expensive leather shoes muffle Lucas’s approach, all traces of taunting evaporating under something darker, more dangerous. Jughead’s seen it in the Ghoulies. He’s even seen it in Sweet Pea on occasion, that _hunger for blood_. Lucas was dancing around it that night in the club, staring down a reluctant Betty like he wanted to grab her wrist and choke her, only relenting when Betty went soft, pliant.

The words of the psychic children blare through the theater, “ _You have to be taught to leave us alone_.”

As much as Jughead wants to engage in the fight Lucas so clearly is searching for, he learned a valuable lesson from Reggie’s encounter. Lucas has a secret weapon. It’s just a matter of baiting him into using it. Fangs and Sweet Pea notice Lucas approaching, already sensing an impending rumble.

“So what kind of _research_ did you have to do to convince Betty you weren’t an insecure nut job?” Jughead asks with a little more haughtiness than he feels. “Or do you always threaten people who have any association with her?”

Lucas’s eyes narrow, the bloodthirstiness sliding into a brag. “Unlike some people, I know how to stake what’s mine. Much to your infatuated displeasure, Betty came onto _me_. She had the choice of Archie. Of you. Of anyone here in this small-minded little town…and she picked _me._ ”

The unexpected reality stabs him much like he anticipates a box cutter would. Of course she picked Lucas. Why wouldn’t she? He knows four languages, he dresses like he popped out of a J. Crew catalogue. He’s definitely sharper than Archie for figuring Jughead’s feelings aren’t _entirely_ platonic after all these years. Lucas _was_ probably nice to her. Charming, even. One of the few people her parents approved of. But he’s also a controlling, abusive, _fuck_ …and Betty deserves to be with someone who doesn’t constantly try and manipulate her into what he wants.

Sensing Jughead’s hesitation, Lucas tilts his head. “Our love isn’t some childhood fantasy…some built-up version of what _could_ _be_ rooted in nostalgia from _a better time_. I’ve read her diary, Jughead. You’re barely mentioned. And when you disappear from Betty’s life _again_ ,” he adds, rubbing salt in the wound, “she’s not going to miss you.”

Swallowing unbidden sorrow, Jughead finally stands, wanting to punch, to run, to silence the angry vibrations in his chest and dig into the earth until he can’t feel anything at all except cool grit against his skin. Maybe then he could stuff Lucas and all the awful evil truths into a hole, bury them and pretend they don’t exist. 

Betty doesn’t need him.

Betty doesn’t _want_ him…barely even _thinks_ about him. Neither does his mother. His father never cares enough. Jellybean was so young…she may not even remember what he looks like anymore. He can’t protect her any more than he can protect Betty.

His throat flexes with emotion, like a pendulum swinging from loathing to despair. Fangs and Sweet Pea are suddenly at his side. _In unity there is strength_.

“This guy bothering you?” Sweet Pea asks loudly, his permanent scowl prepared for such an occasion.

Lucas’s lips twitch into a smile-like formation as he edges suddenly back. “Just leaving, gentlemen.” His hawklike gaze rakes Jughead one last time before retreating into the shadows.

“What the fuck is that north sider’s problem?” Sweet Pea gestures angrily. “I say we slash his tires and cut his hair—see which bothers him more.”

“That’s Betty’s future ex-boyfriend,” Jughead swallows thickly, glancing pointedly at a frowning Fangs before raising the phone back up to his ear. “Archie? You there?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want Betty to be happy! T-T Don't worry she'll get there. She's fiercely loyal but she wants to safely get ouuut of the cycle of crazy. Her optimism of Lucas calming tf down is slim at this point. Do you think Archie knows how to use three-way calling on his phone? I'm never sure on the show if he's supposed to come off as...intelligent...in most capacities. I'm inclined to think not. What would Lucas be more upset about? A lopsided haircut or his car getting trashed? I honestly think it'd be the haircut. He deserves worse for what he's doing these days. Poor Juggie and his emotions. But at least he got a lot of sandwiches. Lemme know what you think about this chapter :)


	5. Psycho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout from the drive-in careens Betty's relationships into disarray

“Do you think I have some kind of Oedipus complex?” Betty sighs forlornly, arm draped over her forehead as she splays across her bed.

“Um, no? Lucas may be a sharp, high-strung, blonde, but he’s not your _mother_ ,” Kevin practically shudders over the phone. “Besides, you used to have a thing for Archie, who’s like the anti-Alice Cooper if there ever was one.”

Biting her lip, Betty sits up, words steadily pouring from her in a stream of consciousness she doesn’t have the energy to direct at her journal. “Lucas just...he's been kind of scaring me lately. You should have heard him on the car ride home. It was like he was possessed. He insisted that something was going on with Archie because I said _thank you_ for opening the door, and that Mr. Butler was _grooming me_ because he complimented my article and put it above the fold."

Kevin snorts at that, and although it's ridiculous, it doesn't stop Lucas from trying to convince her that the article didn't have its own merit.

"Even not pre-disclosing the article with him was withholding information. He just kind of implied I might be hiding something else and I just—I don’t get it. Am I untrustworthy? Is that why my mom and Lucas are _constantly_ checking up on me? It’s like, I breathe the wrong way and suddenly I’m embarrassing them. I did go to Innuendo with you that _one_ night, but I’d already been with them for _hours_. When is it ever enough? When can I stop being afraid of being _punished_ for doing things for myself? Of having my own…opinion? My own relationships? My own _life_?”

Kevin sighs, and Betty can envision him tidying his room by the noises of light shuffling in the background. “As someone with mostly absentee parents and my first recently acquired boyfriend, I haven’t ever had the whole _my life_ vs _our life_ problem. At this point, do you even _want_ them in your life?”

The question hangs suspended in the air, the answer pulled tight across her chest. What she would give just to talk to Polly again. A headache throbs, pulsing against her skull from the inside. “I took a test.”

Kevin’s sharp intake of breath unnerves her. “Are you—?!”

“It was for people in abusive relationships,” she manages, her voice cracking under the admission. Kevin awaits the rest with bated breath. “I—I’m in one. Well, technically, I’m in two. Because the whole time I was taking the test I kept thinking, _but those are things my mom does too._ Like that didn’t make them as bad.”

“What were some of the questions?”

Trembling, Betty rolls over and reads the quiz aloud, voice quaking with each question:

_1\. Do you feel anxious or nervous when you are around your partner?_

_2\. Do you watch what you are doing in order to avoid making your partner angry or upset?_

_3\. Do you feel obligated or coerced into having sex with your partner?_

_4\. Are you afraid of voicing a different opinion than your partner?_

_5\. Does your partner criticize you or embarrass you in front of others?_

_6\. Does your partner check up on what you have been doing, and not believe your answers?_

_7\. Is your partner jealous, such as accusing you of having affairs?_

_8\. Does your partner tell you that he or she will stop beating you when you start behaving yourself?_

Despite being only halfway through, the emotional dam within Betty lurches and cracks. She chokes on the question, sobbing, unable to believe _this is her life_. Nothing she does is ever good enough. And it’s not like Jughead and the Serpents. They might have a set of expectations for him, but they don’t…they _can’t_ be doing _this._

“Betty! Oh my god! I had no idea things were that bad. I thought he was just…normal jealous. Not like…psycho jealous. What can I do? Is he hurting you? Should I call my dad? Should I call child protective services?!”

Laughing despite her anguish, Betty swipes away her tears. “I don’t know, Kev. I mean…she’s my mom, and Lucas doesn’t have anybody else.”

“Are you… _worried_ about Lucas?” Kevin asks dubiously.

“It’s not like I don’t care about him. I love him. And it's not like the bad stuff happens all the time. I just…can’t keep living like this. I just keep thinking there's something _I_ can do to make it better.” Her phone buzzes in her hand, Archie’s face lighting up on the screen. Sighing, she swipes left to ignore it. He tries again, and she swipes left again. “Hold on, Kev. Archie keeps calling me.”

“Does that mean the freeze-out is over?”

Betty swings her curtains to the side, ready to gesture that she’s _on the phone,_ but Archie’s already frantically dialing, trying to position his laptop next to his phone, which looks like it’s on speaker. “What the hell is he doing?” she asks aloud.

Kevin makes a little noise of surprise. “Oh! He’s calling _me_! Well don’t I feel special. Sloppy seconds—“

“Answer it. Can you make it a three-way call?” she asks, watching Archie type a message.

The call drops unexpectedly. Part of her wants to call Kevin back, but he’s probably still talking to Archie. When she looks through the window, Archie’s not _talking_ at all. Licking her lips, Betty makes herself comfortable in the window sill, tears salty, stinging, and forgotten on her cheeks.

 

* * *

 

Surprisingly enough, Betty is sitting in the window sill when Lucas pulls up in the driveway. It makes him uneasy that _anybody_ could just… _look_ at her up there. Her silky pajama pants. Her thin camisole. Those luscious pink lips and bright green eyes. They don’t _deserve_ her.

This town…doesn’t deserve her. But it’s better off without that Serpent scum skulking about.

Swiping his fingers through his hair, Lucas takes a few seconds to slow his heartbeat and make sure he’s as put together as possible before going in. The thud of his car door closing alerts her to his arrival, and she shifts in the sill to look down. He smiles and waves, trying to avoid the swell of panic when he notes her eyes are red and shiny.

_ What is it now? _

Her smile flitters uneasily on her cheeks upon opening the door. She flinches when he leans in for a kiss, making it a quick one. Perhaps her parents are about.

Straightening his shirt, he moves into the entryway. “I came over to see if I could convince you and Kevin to go to Pop’s for a study break.”

Surprised, voice husky from crying, she arches an eyebrow. “You want to go to Pop’s? On a Tuesday?”

Feeling smug and spontaneous, he nods. “Sure, if your parents approve.”

As if on cue, Alice speaks up from the dining room. “Have her back in time for curfew. And easy on the milkshakes. These little diner dates won’t be so cute when she can’t fit into her sweaters anymore.”

Betty sighs, rolling her eyes and looking torn. It _is_ a Tuesday. But knowing her, all of her homework should be completed by now. “I’d have to change,” she mutters dubiously, meandering back towards the stairs in acquiescence.

Perfect. “What about Kevin?” he asks, locking the door behind them and following her upstairs. He doesn’t particularly want the sheriff’s son around, but he does make a nice alibi for when Sunnyside goes up in flames. Plus he’ll be the first one to get any updates on casualties or suspects.

“Kevin’s…busy,” she mutters, twirling her ponytail worriedly and glancing at the window. Lucas physically tenses, aware of Archie frantically pacing his room while talking on the phone. “At least I think he is. I’ll text him in a minute.”

The sound of silk and cotton shifting in the corner doesn’t draw his attention away from the redhead across the street.

_I dare you. I DARE you to look over here._

“I don’t like that he can see you, Betty.”

Glancing over her bare shoulder, Betty sniffs in the direction of her neighbors. “He can’t see me from here.”

His fingers twitch against his rings. “You should close these curtains permanently. Or get some new neighbors.” A thought strikes him. Delighted, inspired, he turns to her. “My father and I could move in.”

A startled laugh escapes her, eyes wide with disbelief. “What? It’s—his house isn’t even for sale.”

“Maybe I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse,” he smiles, moving in on her. His fingers eagerly find the contours of her hips, pushing her jeans just a fraction down so he can smooth over the roundness there. He wants to suck her skin, mark her as his own. Yes. They could live next door to each other. They could walk to school, have dinner every night, watch each other’s every departure, look at each other through the window on the rare study break. Everything would be so much _easier_.

“Lucas,” she squirms. But her belt loops make it easy for him to pull her against him. His body moves against hers, needing the contact, _needing_ the reassurance.

If he could rub his scent all over her and mark her like a cat he would. Betty’s own strawberry shampoo and vanilla soap smell too good for him to smother it in cologne or the fresh spearmint soap he’s used for years. Lately he’s found himself gravitating towards vanilla scents, dropping hints to Alice that she should switch Betty’s shampoo to peppermint so she’ll think of him too. He wants her to think of him always, when they’re not exercising their minds of course. Because he thinks of her. Even when he doesn’t want to.

His fingers trace her skin, going against the soft hairs to make her shudder that much more.

“Lucas, what about Pop’s?” she protests lightly, hands pushing against his chest. Her eyes are everywhere but his face, still pink-rimmed and dried out from whatever’s upset her earlier today. It’s probably the insinuation that everyone’s been using her.

His girl.

_Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone else take advantage of you, Betty._

“It can wait another minute. My girl looks sad and I want to cheer her up.”

Part of him wants to drag her out in front of the window in her camisole and unbuttoned jeans. He could palm her in plain view, remind Archie that there’s only room for one man in her life. The wannabe musician’s inane attempts to interfere alongside that beanie-clad soon-to-be homeless teen would be for naught. She’s made her choice. And then they could close the curtain on them forever, leave it there until Lucas and his father can buy the house next door.

Even though Pop’s can wait, Lucas feels like every second not moving towards their mutual success is _wasted_. He wants to graduate early. Maybe in a few semesters, a year. But Betty…she hasn’t been pushed hard enough to do that, and he certainly doesn’t want to leave her in Riverdale while he goes to Harvard. Maybe he can get her emancipated, moved in…the Coopers won’t leave their precious Register so easily.

The chime of her phone shifts him out of the moment. Another _distraction_. Shifting, she glances at the table. “It’s Kevin.”

“Perfect.” He forces a light smile, reluctantly letting go of her hips so she can check her text messages. Lucas moves to the window, watching Archie attending his phone and computer with a surprising amount of focus. The phone dings a few more times, Betty typing back replies as efficiently as she can. Archie looks up, his neck angular and hunched, like he’s just been caught feasting on something he shouldn’t have.

Lucas tilts his head, studying the boy. It’s not like Archie can do anything. Close his curtains? All the better. Archie visibly swallows, the intense expression never leaving his face. And then he raises his phone and takes aim _right at Betty’s window_. At him.

His resentment is only dampened by the question… _why_?

“I need to call him back.” Betty’s voice sounds hollow, pained. She retreats to the bathroom before he can say anything. Confused, he turns back to Archie. Why does the redhead look so _sure of himself_? So determined? And why is he still aiming at Betty’s window? Stepping back, out of its frame, he wonders whether he should call for Alice. Or should he remind Betty of Archie’s stalker tendencies? Record him again? So many options for such a stupid, persistent boy.

Just as he gets his phone ready, Betty’s repeating, “What? He _what_? Oh my god. Oh my god…I…I have to go.”

“Something wrong, Betty?” he asks mildly, trying not to show alarm at her stricken expression. Perhaps news of Sunnyside’s demise reached her a little _too_ quickly. It was meant to be a slow burn.

Incredulous, she gestures to her room. “Did you…” Closing her eyes, her shoulders clenching forward painfully, she tries to breathe.

“Betty?” Now he’s getting a little alarmed. She shouldn’t be _that_ upset for a boy she hardly knows.

“Did you go down to Sunnyside trailer park tonight? To…interrogate my source…and break into a trailer?”

His face automatically tightens into a puzzled smile, although it may drift closer to a grimace under her scrutiny. “What? I don’t know _—_ ”

Her words shoot out harsher than before. "Did you _threaten_ my friends?"

"Betty _—_ " His mouth twitches, but her expression shifts from fierce to devastated within seconds, the pink rim around her eyes flooded with emotion. It kind of scares him, having all this directed at _him_.

“Did you read my diary?”

Lucas feels the edges of his mouth droop into an open scowl.  “I...Who told you that?”

Her nails curl tightly into her palms. “ _Don’t_ lie to me.”

Cringing at the accusation, he cricks his neck and moves forward. He  _hates_ being interrupted. “If you'd just _listen_ , maybe I could explain.”

“How _could_ you?” The _betrayal_ in her voice unnerves him.

Scrambling, he tries to close the distance between them. “It’s not like I did anything wrong! I was just—I was protecting you!”

Abhorrence trembles through her, but he still doesn’t understand why. Both of their limbs tighten and writhe in frustration. “From what? Human interaction? My own thoughts? My own agency?!”

Building in hysterics, indignation, he lashes back out. “It shouldn’t even matter if you didn’t have anything to hide!”

“ _What_ is going on in here?” Alice demands, barging in with her glasses still perched on her nose.

Reeling back, he tries not to lose his grip on his voice. “Mrs. Cooper—“ He’s regressing. He’s supposed to call her _Alice_. “Betty was just—“

“He stalked my sources, threatened my friends, and read my diary!” Betty announces accusatorially. It stings as much as it baffles him. But does she know about the fire? Or just the trip to south side in general?

“How—do you even have any proof?”

“There’s a _recording_ of you at the drive-in, disparaging my friends _and_ the south side. What do you have to say to that?”

“Jughead,” he mutters bitterly. That drive-in deadbeat must’ve somehow gotten in contact with Kevin or gone straight to the source. Damn. Hopefully that fire waits until the right time to set that ingrate ablaze.

“Jughead Jones? F.P.’s son?” Alice clarifies, whipping off her glasses to scrutinize the pair.

Bewildered, still reeling, Betty scowls at her. “Why does that matter?"

"I don't think you should take the word of a Serpent over your own boyfriend."

"Thank you," he breathes, still trying to find footing, work out exactly what to say. Maybe Alice will do it for him.

Betty's face scrunches up, incredulous. "It came from a trustworthy source mom, despite whatever prejudice you may have against the south side.” Lucas tunes out, brain whirring. So the recording didn’t come straight from Jughead. But who else would have ties to that conversation? To Jughead? Kevin? _Archie?_

Lucas’s head whips in the direction of the boy next door. “That…voyeur…” It only makes sense. The neighbor and the film snob worked together to send that little piece of evidence to Betty in an attempt to bring her back.

Lucas refocuses with a start to Alice berating her daughter. “Oh, so _what_? I read your diary all the time.” Something settles in Lucas’s chest—justification, redemption. Her mother does it too. They do it because they care. Still, his eyes flicker to Betty’s wide-eyed revulsion.

“You—what?!” Tears flow more freely down Betty’s face, temporarily stunned beyond anger.

Alice blocks the doorway as she gestures, arms swinging like a gatekeeper. “Lucas is right. We never know where you’re going, where you could be. You’re lucky to have people care that much about you. After everything with Polly, you can’t expect us to just sit back and watch you throw your life away. It just goes to show that Lucas loves you. With your irrational behavior—”

“My _irrational behavior_?” Face scrunching in disbelief, her chest fills with air that she can’t quite seem to dispel. “Lucas literally threatened to cut Archie’s fingers off and went off challenging a bunch of south siders like it was _nothing_. He was going to slice someone open in a fistfight!”

“He did that for you, right Lucas?” Alice asks with an odd pitch to her voice, earning a short, curt nod. Of course he did. His heart thrums anxiously in his chest, but he keeps his distance for now. Maybe Alice can handle her. “Those people are a bad influence, and with your history of naïveté and forgiveness, it’s no wonder he took it upon himself to protect you.”

They _are_ a bad influence. Why isn’t she angry at _them_? His beautiful Betty starts falling apart. Although she’s always _pretty_ …it’s not the same when she’s all red-eyed and anxious. He much prefers her anger directed at _other_ people like the boy across the street. This is…unstable, and it feels like tremors are rippling under them, stressing and cracking the foundation of their relationship.

Despite the bile in his throat, Lucas gestures to her like he would a classroom of young children. Gently, grandly, he talks slow so as not to spook her further. “Betty, it’s nothing to get worked up over. I assure you, everything was taken out of context. Your mother and I only have your best interests at heart.”

“Out of—“ she squeezes her eyes shut, fists tightening. “You…you _use_ me. Like I’m a doll you can dress up, put words into, and act out some kind of twisted perfect girl-next-door fantasy. You don’t _care_ about me. You don’t care about _anyone_. How could you say all those hateful things to someone? How can both of you _isolate_ me like this? The only reason you love me is because you think I _belong_ to you or something.”

“Well you do” Alice answers easily, the same moment Lucas hurriedly answers, “We belong to each other. You’re my _girlfriend_ , Betty. Of course you belong to me. And I belong to you. Our rings—“

“Yes, this _ring_ —“ she trembles angrily, and to his horror, she starts to pull it off of her hand.

Something squeezes his heart hard enough to make it bulge, to make his eyes pop wide open. The atmosphere thins, the world shifts as she glares up at him. “Betty, don’t!”

“It’s just another way for you to mark me, to _mark your territory_ , isn’t that right? And when that’s not enough, you _bruise me_.”

His tongue suddenly feels too big for his mouth, all his muscles clenching. How could she bring that up again? Daring a glance at Alice, he maintains, “That was an _accident_.”

Eyes filled with tears, Betty shakes her head, the normally calming green irises a storming swirl of grey. “No it wasn’t.”

To Lucas’s surprise, Alice rolls her eyes. “I hardly think a hickey or two is reason to have a fit.”

“It wasn’t a hickey, mom!” Her fists make their way into her hair, leaving tiny little blood clots against her blonde tresses. “God, it’s like, you want Lucas in your life so bad you’re willing to overlook what it’s doing to _me_.”

What _is_ it doing to her, Lucas wonders. It’s…mutually beneficial, isn’t it? It clears her head of the static, the same way it does for him…except in moments like this when even the air seems to hiss in displeasure, silent static shocks biting his skin. "I'm...helping you, Betty."

Pushing back her shoulders, Alice moves towards Betty with a vigor, “It's straightening you out, that’s what it’s _doing!_ ”

“It’s killing me, mom! _You’re_ killing me!”

“Betty, stop being so dramatic,” her mother sighs. “After everything with Polly? Do you expect us to give in to your childish antics?”

“GET OUT!” she bellows, the force of it thundering in Lucas’s chest. “Get! OUT!” He staggers back against her desk. No one’s ever shouted at him like this before.

“You lower your voice young lady!” Alice yells right back, and Lucas is struck by the way her demands lack any _anger_ , only _conviction._

“Leave me _alone!_ I can’t eat, I can’t have friends, I can’t do _anything_ with you two. I’m done! I am _done!_ So _get out!_ ”

The ringing in Lucas’s ears makes it hard for him to stay upright. He wants to run to her, wrap his arms around her like a chain and use his entire weight to suppress the sobs, the screams.

“Don’t, Lucas,” Alice commands, turning back to her daughter as he stutters against his basic instincts. “As long as you are in _my_ house I will not be spoken to that way!”

“Or what? You’ll kick me out? Like Polly?” Face slick with tears, Betty takes a moment to breathe, to mourn her sister. “Well…I’m going to leave too. You suffocated her just like you’re suffocating me. I can’t _breathe_. Do you understand that? I can’t _breathe_ without wondering what’s going to be next. Am I too fat? Did I stand too close? Did I voice my opinion? Instead of _helping_ me with my problems…you’re… _you’ve become them._ ” With trembling fingers, Betty snags her backpack and shoves some of her things into it.

Where is she going?

His knees unlock, and suddenly the floor feels extremely unstable. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Everything was taken care of. He’s the best—he’s best for her.

“Betty,” he finds himself pleading, hands finding purchase on her arms, even as she pushes him away. “You can’t. I love you. I need you to breathe—I need you to breathe for me. This’ll all go away. You can’t—you can’t _leave_ me.”

The ringing in his ears increases, the pitch deafening as Alice tries to snatch Betty’s pack out of her hands. For a second he wonders if she’s going to hit her—is _he_ supposed to hit her? But Betty doesn’t like that…even when they play. Black spots tickle the outside of his vision, blurring the image of the struggle until Betty breaks out of their grasp. The snap of metal on her desk does something to his insides, curls them in and turns them to clenching solid snakes.

The ring. She left behind the ring.

Alice’s demands for Betty to stop drown out in a sea of internal screaming white noise.

Lurching for her bathroom, Lucas empties the contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He had fixed everything.

They were _made_ for each other.

 

* * *

 

The only noise besides her mother's car is the sound of denim chafing with her thighs. But their bickering breaks up that peaceful Riverdale silence, and part of it feels lethargic, like screaming into a cavern. “I will wake up this whole goddamn neighborhood if you don’t leave me alone!” Betty yells, so _sick_ of her domineering mother, so _abhorrent_ of her twisted boyfriend.

Recoiling in the car seat, Alice looks at her like she looked at Polly that time she ran away but only made it to the attic. “What are you doing to do? Camp out at Pickens Park like a homeless person?”

“Ordinance 46 doesn’t allow it.” The biting sarcasm comes surprisingly natural. “Just go back to Lucas and enjoy the perfect delusional son you never had.”

“The only delusional one is you, missy. That boy is the best thing that ever happened to you.”

Whirling to face her, to _force_ her to understand, Betty flails with her palms out, hoping that at least the sight of blood may bring her point home. The pink on her skin from her mother's nails doesn't even fully register. “He _hurt_ me mom! He hurt me! And you don’t even seem to care!”

Properly steeled, Alice waves as if it’s normal. “People hurt each other all the time. It’s called being in a relationship. But you work it out. If your father and I called it quits every time _we_ had a disagreement—”

“What if Dad bit you every time you had a different opinion?” That shuts Alice up, puzzlement plastered on her face. “Or he punished you any time you talked to someone without his permission? What if he grabbed you so hard you had bruises for weeks? What then? Would you still _work it out_? Would you tell him to suck it up if you did the same?”

Her mother doesn’t answer, which only makes the acid in Betty’s stomach boil even more uncertainly. “I can’t _be there_ Mom. Not tonight.”

Struggling, Alice keeps whatever emotion building inside of her on a tight leash. “So we’ll talk about this tomorrow?”

Feeling despondent, she turns on her heels and continues trekking down the block. “Maybe. I can’t right now. I can’t even look at either of you without...” Her nails dig in, and it takes actual concentrated effort to remove them.

“Okay then. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.” Alice wipes her cheek, but in the dark, Betty can’t tell if there’s any genuine emotion behind the gesture. “I’ll tell Lucas to go home and do the same.”

“Don’t—don’t tell Lucas anything. I don’t know if I can talk to him.”

“Well you can’t avoid the boy forever, Betty. You do go to school together.” The painful reminder stings her heart, but she doesn’t say anything. Alice finally lets the car roll slowly to an anticipated stop. “Call us when you’re ready to apologize. And _don’t_ jeopardize your future over hormones or some kind of teenage rebellion.”

The _nerve._

Betty hunkers down with her backpack and trudges off the sidewalk, somewhere the car can’t follow. Her mother’s probably having a heart attack watching her walk into the woods but she doesn’t care. She’s more likely to find Kevin here than anywhere else, anyway. When she’s finally out of sight, she fishes her phone out of her pocket.

“Pick up, pick up,” she whispers in the dark, ignoring the chill creeping up her skin.

 

* * *

 

 

There is no possible way Jughead can juggle all of the phone calls at once. First from his dad, letting him know about the trailer. Then Archie, trading evidence and updating Kevin. Of course Kevin insists that _Serpent Justice_ is not _real justice_ and Betty deserves a police report. So fine. He texts his dad back, sends him the audio file, and tells him Kevin already called his dad to start the report so not to sic the Serpents on Lucas yet. The talking-to he’ll get for _that_ move is going to be _wonderful_. He can already visualize the “BOY!” accompanied by a finger jabbing the air. Personally, he’s a fan of the Serpent justice route for the psycho who hurt Betty and apparently tried to burn down his trailer, but from what Jughead gathers the blot on Lucas’s perfect record will hurt him far longer than a switchblade session would.

Maybe that’s why Lucas is never fazed about hurting Betty. It’s not _permanent._

Time heals all wounds, his ass.

They’re going to make sure this never happens again.

A frantic call from Archie sets his fingers on edge. “Lucas is at her house, man.”

“Well what the fuck is he doing?”

“I don’t know! I mean, he’s smiling.”

“ _Serial killer_ smiling or _hi I have your pizza_ smiling?”

“Pizza?”

“ _Archie_!”

“I don’t know, he’s being… _his_ normal, I guess. Where the hell is Kevin’s dad? Should I text him and let him know Lucas is at Betty’s?”

“Fuck,” Jughead spits, fingers running absently along his beanie. And of _course_ this all happens while he’s at work. Maybe he can get Fangs or Sweet Pea to cover. They can close the drive in, right?

Archie clears his throat awkwardly. “Um…I don’t think he’s trying to hurt her. He keeps trying to make out with her while I assume she’s getting dressed.” The thought of Lucas putting his mouth on Betty, Archie _seeing_ any of it, rolls Jughead’s stomach in a way he wasn’t anticipating. “I’m messaging Kevin. Dude. Lucas is… _looking_ at me. I’m gonna—I’m gonna record it.”

“What? Archie!”

Did they _all_ have some kind of death wish?

“It’s fine. He’s not going to hurt her with me standing right here in the window. It’s like he’s trying to mark her or something.”

“Betty isn’t a _thing_ to be _marked_!”

Archie doesn’t bother responding, clearly in agreement, but more focused on the drama in front of him.

“Oh shit. Oh _shit_.”

Jughead’s clenching his phone so hard he’s surprised the screen hasn't snapped off in protest. “What?!” 

“Alice just got in on it. They’re _really_ fighting. I can’t talk, dude. I have to record this and get the Sheriff before this gets out of hand. I’ll text you.”

“You’ll—“ The line goes dead. “FUCKING HELL, ARCHIE.”

Sweet Pea stutters a laugh. “What was _that_?”

The energy drains out of his limbs. “A _nightmare_ known as three-way calling and a death wish. Do I even _have_ Kevin’s number? _Fuck._ ”

After scrolling through his contacts, he doesn’t find anything. It’s not like he can call Betty in the midst of the storm. Archie is clearly busy playing next-door-hero…and Jughead’s stuck here like some chump. He should've punched Lucas when he had the chance. Sweet Pea probably has his switch...Jughead closes his eyes against the violent thoughts. He has to be better than Lucas, better than his base impulses. But damn is it hard.

A few minutes are spent texting Archie furiously, the sound of notifications setting him so on edge he finally silences it (like he’s _supposed_ to at the movies, as Sweet Pea vehemently reminds him, throwing a coke can at his head). And then the text comes that stills his breath.

She left.

She packed a bag and she _left_.

_We did it,_ he thinks muddily. _We saved her._

Later, when he’s on the phone with his dad, sorting out if it’s safe to stay… _anywhere_ for the night, Betty’s face lights up his screen…and it occurs to him, where is _she_ going to stay?

“Dad I gotta go, it’s an update, I’ll call you back” he says, hanging up with slightly more ceremony than Archie might before answering Betty. “Are you okay?” he breathes, feeling like the eternal fog of Riverdale is crowding his lungs in anticipation.

“I left my house. It’s a nightmare, Juggie.” His chest stings with how _tired_ she sounds. “Just…please don’t come by the house tonight. I’m so sorry, in my rush to get things, my mom grabbed the book out of my hands. I’ll try to get it later this week.”

“Don’t even _worry_ about some random book.” His hand slices the air as if he can chop Alice Cooper down to size with it. “I’m just glad you’re okay. Do you have somewhere to go?”

“Yeah. I think so. I just—“ Her breath comes out in short swallows. His fingers curl around the edge of his phone, willing it to be her hand. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve trusted Archie. You all said he was…what he was. And I just couldn’t see it. It’s still hard to see it, to be honest with you. I mean, so many of the things he was doing seemed…normal. So horribly, awfully normal, that I have trouble thinking of it as…”

He thinks of his father. Of all the chances he gave him to make it right. That even on days FP stumbles back into the house stinking drunk Jughead still finds it in himself to be _disappointed_. Because he knows there’s potential there…some glimmer of hope that his dad could be an excellent father. Could love him more than he loves his addiction. But no matter how good of a son he is, FP can’t pull his weight.

Jughead wants to be able to love someone without hating himself for it.

“I get it.” His words come out darker than expected.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jug,” she repeats, and part of him wishes that apologies were enough to mend a stupid broken heart. It’s not like him apologizing to Betty for Lucas’s shit portrayal of what boyfriends should be is going to help. It’s not like he’s even been one before.

“Yeah. Well. We’ll figure something out.” Clearing his throat, Jughead closes his eyes and tries to imagine her walking out in the dark, alone. “We will. Okay, Betty? I’ll stay on the phone with you until you get there. Wherever _there_ is.”

 

* * *

 

By the time Lucas gets home, Alice’s words have been rattling around in his mind long enough to mull over. “ _She needs to sleep on it. Teenage girls. I don't know how anyone bothers with a relationship at your age. Don’t worry, it’ll be okay. You just need to lay low for a while_. _Give her some space. I'll let you know when she calls._ ”

Maybe Betty’s just angry at her mother. He happened to be there, so she took it out on him too. Because her mother likes Lucas, so rejecting him punished her mother. That’s it.

But that’s not very _nice_ of her. His fingers clench into the ring that’s in his pocket instead of on her finger. It’s not _fair._ He’s given her _everything she wanted_. He loves her like he’s never loved anyone else…like no one’s _ever_ loved anyone else. And she loves him. And she has the nerve to throw it away over a few intimidating encounters and a diary?

He’s barely inside the house, rubbing his keys against the rings in his hands before blue and red lights dance through the window panes.

_That was fast._

The heady knock at the door keeps him rooted in place for a full three seconds before he starts moving again at the sound of his father groaning upstairs.

Lucas opens the door, not bothering to smile since every ounce of self-control is going into keeping his head clear. “Sheriff Keller,” he breathes, attempting to portray _relieved_. “Did you find Betty?”

The gruff, square-jawed man shifts as if to avoid the question. “We’re going to need to take you down to the station for some questioning.”

_Oh._

“Yes. All right. My father. Let me get him.” Waking his father from yet another drunken stupor to go to the police station was _not_  part of his plan. But maybe it would help to douse him in ice cold water, watch his father shiver and clutch his heart before jumping back into battle with him, feeding each other the lines they've worked on over the years.

But Sheriff Keller tilts his chin, his heavy hand keeping Lucas in place. “I’ll get your father. You follow Deputy Richards to the car so we can get you set up.”

Lucas stares down the Sheriff. So now…he’s a suspect? Not allowed back in his own home?

“Fine,” he says curtly, forcing his hands to unclench from the door knob.

 

* * *

 

 

“All this is circumstantial,” Mr. Ward waves. “Nowhere on that tape did Lucas _threaten_ or even admit to entering this _Jughead’s_ trailer. He just said he took a tour of Sunnyside.”

Sheriff Keller sighs as if everyone in this town throws around the word _circumstantial_ , but Lucas has found it to be his best defense in situations like these. “Mr. Topaz insists that he only answered a few of Lucas’s questions, but several residents saw him enter the Jones property and leave shortly after. When they went in, the gas was left on, a burner open, which _would_ have burned down the place had it not been stopped in time.”

Lucas sucks on his own tongue, trying not to glower. Of course he had someone stop it in time. The voyeur surrounded himself with a meddler, he supposes. Mr. Ward, heading off Sheriff Keller, interrupts, “So _they_ admit to breaking and entering. How do you know my son wasn’t just wandering around like a regular citizen, or didn't go back to his car, for that matter? From what I understand these south siders are not very reliable and may have a personal vendetta against my son. They could be framing him as part of some north side mission. Lucas is dating Betty Cooper—“ Lucas blinks instinctively, anxiety worming its way through his insides worrying about the present tense of that verb, “and apparently this Archie and Jughead kid have been trying to get into her pants for a while.”

“Betty Cooper?” Sheriff Keller’s brow furrows. “I know her. Andrews and Jones too. But my son Kevin’s her best friend—“

“ _I’m_ her best friend,” Lucas mutters, earning the ire of his father.

“And he says she’s barely talked to them in weeks, if not years for the Jughead kid,” Sheriff Keller continues, deliberately careful. “I don’t think this is some lover’s quarrel.”

“Come on,” Mr. Ward rolls his eyes. “Don’t you remember what it was like to be a hormonal teenager? Sweet girl like Betty goes away for the summer, comes back ripe for the picking and some new kid grabs her?” Something vile drips in the back of Lucas’s throat, earning his father even more loathing. “Those guys were her friends since…four years old. They wanted dibs. It’s only natural that they’d try to paint Lucas as the bad guy. They sure as hell can’t take him in a fight after that whole Reggie debacle.”

Sheriff Keller looks doubtful, but eventually he sighs and gets out an official-looking form.

“No!” Lucas starts, leaning forward and putting his hand on the table. Sheriff Keller automatically reaches for his gun, used to junkies lurching forward to attack. Lucas slams himself back in his chair, trembling, trying to keep his hands to himself. “I _cannot_ have anything that would implicate me in criminal activity on my application to Harvard. I can’t.”

“This isn’t an arrest form, Lucas. It just means you’re forbidden from trespassing on Sunnyside premises and the drive-in. I know you probably won’t cross paths often, but stay away from the Jones’s, okay? Otherwise we’re going to have a serious problem.”

Letting out a shaky breath, Lucas nods. He can do that. He hates the drive-in. And why the hell would he want to go to the trailer park? Unless he wants to finish the job...

Sheriff Keller looks uneasy, glancing at his phone expectantly.

“Is there anything else, Sheriff?” Mr. Ward asks, voice still a little husky from the booze-induced slumber he’d been dragged out of.

Taking a deep breath, Sheriff Keller fixes weary eyes on Lucas. The attention makes him stiffen to attention. “What?”

Keller opens his palms awkwardly. “There’s the matter of Betty and yours’ recent relationship. I guess Kevin hears that you’ve been roughing her up a little.” Lucas and Mr. Ward both freeze at that. Mr. Ward turns to fix a heated gaze on his son, and Lucas feels himself boiling under it. “Now, she hasn’t said if she wants to file a restraining order, but it’s not exactly painting the picture of loving boyfriend.”

_What do you know about being a loving boyfriend?_ Lucas wants to scoff. Keller’s wife is thousands of miles away. And since he doesn’t seem particularly cowed by her absence, most likely he’s getting his satisfaction somewhere else.

“I _never_ hit Betty. I _touched_ her,” Lucas clarifies, trying to keep the trembling violence out of his voice. His hands move through his hair so hard it almost flattens against his skull. “We had a fight. _Because_ of these boy friends of hers. This all set-up!" he insists, eyes trained on Sheriff Keller, daring him to disagree. "Once I talk to Betty again, everything will go back to the way it was. We're the perfect couple _._ ” Everyone thinks so. _Everyone_. Books will be written about them, _sonnets_.

Nodding softly, Sheriff Keller braces himself in his chair for some kind of protest...perhaps some uncomfortableness. “I have some names,” Sheriff Keller he says in his low, calm voice. “Some teachers, students that may have felt threatened by you in the past. You have anything you want to say about that?”

Mr. Ward lets out a low, throaty, groan, sinking into his chair. Affronted, Lucas openly glares at his father, the very picture of failure. Nice suit soiled by the sweat of alcohol. This man, who wasn’t even in love with Betty, wasn't even pushed away tonight, _he_ gets to fall apart?

_A lot_ of people get enamored of Betty Cooper, romantically or otherwise. White-hot anger flashes through him again.

“Betty?” his father asks quietly, rubbing his temples.

Lucas shakes his head. _Not now. Not here._

“They broke up tonight,” Sheriff Keller informs Mr. Ward, as if being brought in for questioning isn’t humiliating enough for one night.

“That’s…” Lucas shakes his head. It’s not true. It can’t be true. She’s just angry. Angry and irrational.

His father’s mouth makes wet, strangled noises. It takes everything in Lucas’s power not to reach over and smack his mouth shut. “Well, Lucas…you never did very well with sadness,” his father sniffs, eyes glazed over. “Sheriff Keller, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to let my son get some rest. He’s had a rough night, but we can answer any other questions you may have tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Sheriff Keller nods. “And Lucas?” He pauses, back still partially turned en route to the exit. “Stay away from Betty for a while. Until this all clears up.”

_Sleep on it_ , Mrs. Cooper had said. All she needed to do was sleep on it.

Stiff, unsure what to say, Lucas stares at his father’s dashboard on the car ride home. Maybe he could start drafting a speech to her. Or maybe he should be looking into chloroform…messing with endorphins probably won't work the way he wants it to.

He’s never _needed_ forgiveness before, never really understood it. There’s just and unjust and deserved and undeserved and…he _deserves_ Betty. She deserves him, too. The means to get there are irrelevant. So why are they fighting? Why is her ring in his jacket pocket instead of on her finger?

His father looks over, miserable and hopeful all at the same time. “I can help you, you know. We just need to work on your coping methods. So what are the chances we’ll be moving on? Or are we gonna stick it out this time?”

Teeth clenched, Lucas doesn’t dignify him with an answer.

 

* * *

 

 

It feels surreal, walking out into the hall like she’s a deer in an open field. Hyper-sensitive, her eye is drawn to Lucas, his lithe form angrily waiting for the rest of the students to pass. How can he be so pristine…so _intelligent…_ yet so…hard?

His predatory gaze finds her within seconds, freezing her in place. No smile from either of them. No facade. Every hair on her body stands on edge as he analyzes everything about her, including the slightly lower incline of her ponytail.

Panicking, Betty turns and heads down the hall. It doesn’t even occur to her that her next class is in the opposite direction, but it must to Lucas, because the nauseating awareness that she’s being followed continues until she rushes into the ladies’ room. The icy chill of his shadow makes her want to rub her arms to reignite warmth, safety. But something feels sticky. With mild, familiar horror, she unclenches her fists to release the crusty blood crescents.

_This has to stop. When does it stop?_

Kevin texts her the all-clear to leave the bathroom. But inevitably the time comes when she has class with Lucas. He waits in the doorway, the back of his head leaning against the wall. Small bruises under his eyes and an ashy pallor give away that maybe he hasn't slept so well, sending a pang of guilt through Betty's chest.. Although his outfit is still neat with a button-down and dark jeans, his sleeves look like they've been rerolled multiple times during the day. His pale eyes lock into her and suddenly she feels like she’s fallen into icy cold water, unable to breathe. He’s seen every private thought, every inch of her skin…he’s seen _everything_ in her. And he still wants her. But if she gives in to him she’ll be crushed in his grip.

“Betty.”

Even his voice erupts her skin in goosebumps. Clenching her books tight, she shakes her head. "I can't talk to you."

Trying to be encouraging, Lucas leans forward. “Of course you can, Betty. You were mad, but it doesn’t have to be this way. We love each other. We're going to make up.”

_Don’t look at him. Don’t give him any power._

His face is soft right now, she can tell. He’s even wearing something slightly casual, trying to be less… _perfect_. More approachable. Those long lashes. His pale eyes. Light sweater. Golden hair. He fits so well into the pastel aesthetic that her life has been.

Bur she still can't bring herself to unclench her jaw enough to respond.

Trying to avoid the curious gazes of their classmates, he says softly, “Fine. I’ll give you some time. Our academics come first so for now let's agree to work as normally as possible. But if you want to talk about it, I’m here.” He pauses to go inside, thinks better of it, and adds, “We were made for each other, Betty. I love you.”

Strangling everything she wants to say (or sob), Betty pushes past Lucas into the relative safety of the classroom, ignoring the chill that runs through her when they accidentally touch. It slides across her like ice every time he so much as glances over at her. But she has to be strong. Without anger as her sheathe, there’s only shame. It’s heavy but not strong, and he can sense it.

He’s waiting for her to give in.

Taking a shallow breath, Betty puts every ounce of effort she can into focusing on the lectures. But her mind keeps wandering to Lucas’s other schools, the names Sheriff Keller has been trying to contact, people too afraid to speak. 

And by not speaking to him…to anyone…is she doing the same thing?

_Circumstantial._

Does she _want_ him to go to jail?

Is that the only way she’ll feel safe again? Ruin his life, his plans of Harvard?

Her pen taps anxiously on her desk, drawing his attention. Shit. She knows how he is about distractions. But that’s not her problem anymore. She doesn’t have to take care of him anymore…tip-toe around his feelings.

But she loved him. That doesn’t just go away. They don’t just go from planning their lives together to _nothing_ overnight. In fact, she feels a lot of something.

Lucas remains a quiet ever-present shadow, drifting in and out of the corner of her eye. It’s a miracle either of them can do _anything_. Maybe he’s just that confident that she’ll fall back into him. But she can’t. She won’t.

At lunch Lucas sits with Ethel and some of the other _brains_ , keeping Betty and Kevin constantly in his peripheral. Before Archie can make the monumental statement of sitting with them, Betty excuses herself to the Blue and Gold. Kevin covers her, shaking his head at an intense-looking Lucas in warning before follows her.

She needs to get away. To get some air. To be with people who low-key like her. Or love her. Or…

Maybe just people who let her decide what’s best for herself.

Betty bites her lip, wondering if anyone besides Kevin is really _there_ for her like that. And even if he is…how long does she have before she’s forced to go back to her mother’s house?

 

* * *

 

The clang of readjustment in the back of Archie’s pickup at the drive-in makes Jughead feel like they’re kids again. Betty’s scrunched down in the middle, willing no one to see her just in _case_ freak boy shows his face despite the restraining order. It’s still bizarre that _Jughead’s_ the one that ended up with a restraining order—even if technically it’s for the drive-in and Sunnyside. It's temporary until Sheriff Keller rubs his two brain cells together enough to make the jump that Lucas is a homicidal nut job. But Lucas probably isn’t going to risk anything going on his record before Harvard applications. Assuming he wants to get back in Betty’s good graces, he’s gotta play nice for a minute, giving the girl two seconds to breathe and relax with her friends, even if he wants their heads mounted on a wall.

Archie’s catching up with some Bulldogs at concessions while Jughead keeps Betty company. They fall into companionable chatter, watching the victim and villain have an almost-normal conversation. She keeps crinkling the sleeve of her jacket, and he’s not sure whether it’s some kind of treated canvas of just plastic that looks like it. The nervous gesture makes him worry about her palms.

“You sure you’ll be okay to watch this?”

“I’ve lived it.” The dry delivery snakes a smile out of him, so he hunkers down next to her, hidden in the pickup bed with only his arms and one of Archie’s spare blankets to prop himself up enough to see.

Norman (the psycho) blushes at the very pretty blonde (Marion) while they sip tea in his sitting room.

“The whole taxidermy thing might’ve tipped her off,” Jughead huffs, earning a smirk from his pickup-bed-mate.

“Hobbies are meant to pass time, Jughead, not to fill them.” Her eyes flutter closed for a minute, and he takes the opportunity to look at her face. How does someone like Betty know every Hitchcock movie known to man and escape being his friend for the past two years? He’s stupid. He’s been an idiot. Disappearing from their destined-to-be-golden lives just seemed easier, let them fall into the inevitable relationship they were doomed for and save himself from having to watch his two best friends edge him out of their lives forever. He should’ve been there. If he had been there, maybe she wouldn’t have…

He forces himself to look away from her long pretty lashes, her pale skin. It’s no use thinking of stuff like that.

Marion, the heroine, sighs onscreen. “I guess I'm looking for a private island someplace where I can be alone and no one can find me.”

Norman: _What are you running away from?_

Marion: _Why do you ask that?_

Betty opens her eyes, angling upwards on her elbows.

Onscreen, Norman contemplates his answer in front of some subtly freaky stuffed birds. “No reason. No one really runs away from anything. It's like a private trap that holds us in like a prison. You know what I think? I think that we're all in our private traps, clamped in them, and none of us can ever get out. We scratch and we claw, but only at the air, only at each other, and for all of it, we never budge an inch.”

Marion looks a tad despondent, glancing at the uneaten snack in her hands. “Sometimes...we deliberately step into those traps.”

Betty turns her head just slightly, just enough that in his peripheral he knows that she’s looking at him.

Norman ducks his head, feigning that he isn’t suffering. “I was born into mine. I don't mind it anymore.”

Marion sits forward, attentive. "Oh, but you should. You should mind it."

“Oh, I do…I do, but I say I don’t.” Norman laughs, shrugging his shoulders good-naturedly.

_Fuck, this guy is a good actor,_ he wants to say. _Layers of humanity are the key to portraying insanity and sanity accurately._ But he knows that art is mirroring life a little too much for Betty right now. In fact, she might be identifying with Norman _and_ Marion at this point. That’s good storytelling. Jughead absently wishes he could invoke that kind of sympathy in his writing. Most of the time it’s analytical or reactionary. _It was a pleasure to burn_ kinda stuff.

Marion hints to Norman that he should leave his abusive mother. But unsurprisingly, he declines because of obligations to people who are ill. It’s not particularly inspiring considering Betty’s current predicament.

“We, um…we don’t have to watch this,” Jughead mutters, shifting inside his Sherpa jacket. “We could talk instead. Or build a blanket fort. Hotwire Archie’s car.”

Betty ignores his attempt at a joke and rolls onto her side. Torn somewhere between exhaustion and determination, she fixes him with a stare. Those green eyes hook into him, making him hold his breath like he’s supposed to blow up a beautiful bubble with his next words. She does it for him, creating magic. “I’m going to get out, Jug.”

If it had been anyone else, he’d think they were a fool. He’d probably tell them as much. The last person he knew to leave Riverdale was Mary Andrews, and that was a fucking mess that she didn’t get to until she was in her forties. He didn’t even want to _think_ about his own mother and sister in Toledo. But looking at Betty, nothing seems impossible. This haunted, amazing girl was going to make anything happen.

“I know you are,” he reassures her softly.

Her small, firm fist tugs on his sleeve. “And you are too.”

At that, his mouth quirks down. Maybe not.

“You _are_ , Jug.”

Her eyes search his for confirmation, but he can’t give it to her. The only thing he knows for sure is that he’s his father’s son. That’s gotta give him a negative karmic tally from birth. It all seems kind of inevitable at this point.

“Whatever you say, Betts.” The nickname doesn’t quell the determined look in her eyes. This is going to be a long night, so he offers her part of his arm as a pillow. Surprisingly, she wriggles closer and curls into him. Trying to ignore the flutter of nerves, he tries to let his heart settle back into its normal pace. After a few minutes he accepts that his new normal heartbeat is significantly more excitable with Betty Cooper nestled into his side. It’s _nice_. Probably _too_ nice for a movie like a _Psycho_. For a guy like Jughead.

The movie swims in front of him, and he can’t help but muse that this is probably one of his _other_ dream dates. Cuddling with Betty at the drive-in. His stomach lurches excitedly, sickeningly. He should just be a _good friend_. Her breakup is too recent, their own reconciliation too fresh. But it feels so _right_ in a way he doesn’t think it could be with anyone else.

But this isn’t her first time here with a guy, it’s probably not even as comfortable as whatever fancy car Lucas drives. As if Jughead could escape this town on a motorcycle and thirty bucks in his pocket.

“I was going to marry him, Jug.”

His bones stiffen like they’re pulled on a string.

Sensing his tension, she lifts her head. “Maybe this is a conversation better had with Kevin.”

“N—no. It’s fine. Talk to me.” His hands move automatically to her arm, rubbing, comforting her until she slots herself back against him. He knows it’s too soon for her to be even thinking about anyone—let alone her weirdo childhood friend—in a way that makes her heart feel less broken. This is his chance to be a better friend instead of some romantic sap out of a Nicholas Sparks novel. His own problems, romantic or otherwise, are his to bear.

Betty scratches absently at the lining of his coat, her fingers seeking the fuzzy softness. “I had it all planned out. Well, maybe _he_ had it all planned out. It was like a schoolgirl fantasy. We’d graduate, go to Harvard—even though I wanted to go to Columbia or NYU. Sometimes he’d get antsy and say he wanted to get married right when we turned 18, but other times he’d say that was ridiculous and we should get married at 22 because by then we can invite all of our work colleagues.”

“Wow. Best part of planning a fantasy wedding. Inviting imaginary work colleagues.”

A breath of laughter shakes against him, settling the anxious energy in his chest. His palm keeps up the soothing motion on her arm.

“I just…I don’t know. He always talked about figuring it out and then becoming the best. Part of me thought that maybe we’d both come back and run the Register. That’s what my parents were hoping, I think.”

“Small wedding then,” he muses, ignoring the light smack on his chest, gazing up the stars instead. The infinite possibilities. “Is that what you wanted? A work wedding and a life in the suburbs? A blonde little army of miscreants?” Her head moves against him, subtly shaking side to side. “Riverdale? New York? Or would you like to travel?”

Contemplating her answer, Betty turns her head to look up at the sky, hair flattening out behind her. “I don’t know.”

His voice catches, feeling a little raw. These are definitely not the conversations he has with Sweet Pea or Fangs. “Does that scare you?”

Without even realizing it, his hand has slowed to a stop. Now he’s just holding her. Their chests moving in sync as they breathe, gazing at the stars. He’s afraid to turn and look at her. The stars in her eyes would blossom a void in his chest, an irretrievably longing to go somewhere beyond himself.

It feels too intimate. Like the sky is swallowing them whole with visions of the futures they could’ve had, could still have, if they really want to. Sometimes it feels like he has one unavoidable path, just a few little variations he can make along the way. 

Finally, she finds her answer written somewhere up there.

“No.”

It sounds more like a decision than an answer. He suppresses the part of him that wants to make a joke, because that just seems too ingenuous right now. So he squeezes her in a way he hopes is reassuring.

Knowing the movie, Betty’s thought process must jump ahead to the second half because suddenly she sounds like a woman with a mission. “I need to find Polly.”

Turning his chin so he doesn’t disturb her, Jughead studies her somber face. Bordering on embarrassed, she tucks her cheek further into his sleeve before finding the confidence to face him full-on. “It’s just…my parents probably took away her agency the same way they kept taking away mine. I need to know that she’s okay. I need to talk to her, to be with what feels like the only person who loves me and doesn’t want to _control_ me.”

“She’s not the only one,” Jughead admits softly.

Maybe it’s imagination (god knows he has an active one), but her eyes drift down to his lips. Their bodies move instinctively, pulling together in perhaps the strongest show of comfort he’s ever been a part of. With his arms around her, her face nestled into his shoulder, arm slung tightly across his midsection, he feels strangely… _whole. It’s_ not like he’s _lacking_ something when they’re not together. It’s more like for the first time in forever he’s not hungry. He doesn’t want for _anything_. Jughead Jones would pick Betty-cuddles over food.

Archie stumbles back to the truck looking surprised. Jughead silently tries to convey _she needs this, man_ so his friend doesn't smack him upside the head. In typical Archie fashion, the redhead hops into the truck bed and splays himself across Betty’s other side, hugging them both with his long arms and varsity jacket. If it wasn’t so sweet and emotional Jughead would probably be laughing his ass off. As it is, Betty just hugs him tighter.

It feels like a trap. A wonderful, warm, fantastic trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I drew that little fanart for myself at the end bc I love fanart and these previous Riverdale babies T-T Please let me know if you're going use it or post it somewhere, ok? Ok. I wish I could've done them more justice but I did my best. So. No kisses or punches this time, but this is an emotional journey so hopefully you'll stick around for the fireworks in coming chapters. Betty did JUST break up with Lucas (and her mom? Kinda?) so she needs a few minutes to emotionally recoup before engaging in more romantic/sexual activity. Your comments seriously fuel the fire of this thing. I am eternally grateful!


	6. Anything can happen in the woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas's patience runs out in a desperate grab for Betty's affections. Betty searches for the farm, but others race each other to find her first. With everything feeling like it's detaching from reality, Betty struggles to come to terms with what's real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few song references for your audio pleasure. Lana del Ray's "Ultraviolence" and "High by the Beach" are highly recommended listening or just looking up the lyrics that I haven't quoted. I mean...you CAN listen to Into the Woods, but it's more speak-singing than anything else. Also sorry if there are any mistakes. For some reason when I was editing this chapter there were a lot of switched pronouns which makes me feel like there are little fic gremlins playing pranks on me and I need way more sleep than I'm getting.
> 
> I was going to have this chapter end on a non-climactic point but my s.o. insisted I keep going so if you don't want the drama pause your reading at "on her teeth" until next time.

The last few days haven’t been progressing the way Lucas expects. He said he’d give Betty _time_ …but how much does she _need_? This is simple. They belong to each other. They had a fight. A stupid one. Doesn't she understand that all of this is for them? And given the chance, he could explain everything. But everyone keeps telling him to keep his distance.

Besides the obvious _how_ , when they go to the same school, the stronger question surging inside of him is _why_? It feels unnatural, not talking to her after class, not sitting with her at lunch. It’s like his blood is itching up through his skin, his nostrils flaring as if it’s a physical compulsion to _notice_ her. How can he not at this point? He still finds himself driving by her house every day, glaring at her window and willing her to be there. The suburban house remains daughterless, devoid of life.

It’s not like he can infiltrate the Keller house and steal back the light in his life. Well, he _can_ , but he shouldn’t. It’s not _smart_. But even playing this game as he always had, two steps ahead, he feels like he’s been given a handicap, forced to wait for someone else to make a move. He hates it. It’ his turn. It’s _his_.

He's written her love letters to be delivered but Kevin mildly rejects them and says, "I'm saying this as your friend, Lucas, but it's not a good idea to be contacting her right now. It could be a liability with my dad. She needs time and solitude. I'm sorry. When she's ready, I'll get her the message."

Time. The one thing he has no influence over. So he huffs and tries not to strangle the Sheriff's son and contemplates slipping them in her locker anonymously. It's not like they could prove it's him. But Keller would turn him in for it like the little morally ambiguous weasel he is.

The only major project distracting him is uncovering dirt on Fred Andrews’ failing construction business so he can potentially buy the Andrews' house. But why the hell would he buy them out if Betty isn’t living there anymore? What the hell is the point of staying in Riverdale at all? What about all the plans they've made?

At least he’s _sort of_ seeing her. Staying in the peripheral of her keeper, Kevin, Lucas makes himself present as much as possible. Even his presence, a casual glance, _affects_ her. He can see it in the way she shivers any time he’s near. The way she rubs her arms to hide the goosebumps when he looks at her. The visible trembling (and it's not fear) when he answers a question in class. She's holding herself back, afraid of what she feels. It’s irritating him that she’s still avoiding eye contact. Every time she looks away or brushes past he wants to force himself in her path.

_**Look** at me._

_You **belong** to me._

_You belong_ **_with_ ** _me._

_You_ **_promised_ ** _me._

It gets even harder to breathe when he’s _not_ dealing with her, forced to deal with what he generally considers _others_. Currently he’s hovering in the library aisle, pretending to scour book titles when really he’s watching Betty make notes in her journal, texting someone once in a while (who the fuck is it now?). Kevin sits with her, so he can’t approach yet.

Ethel watches Lucas from a nearby table, annoyingly needy for someone always crowing about her own intelligence and independence, how she's so often overlooked. Like Ethel’s family’s bad investment is someone else's fault. She must’ve dropped hints she was interested his father’s lawyer services a dozen times. Why doesn’t she just study up on something like this for herself? If Lucas was 18 he’d have no problem defending himself in court. His father is kept busy enough as it is, and when he isn't, Lucas would prefer he didn't entertain in the same social circles as his schoolmates.

“Say Lucas, why aren’t you sitting with Betty?” Ethel asks, blinking in what she probably assumes is an intriguing manner. It’s hideous. Her face would look better smashed against the shelves.

But he’s on thin ice right now, so instead he offers, “Betty and Kevin are reconnecting for the Blue and Gold while I work on an independent project.” It’s not really a lie.

“So…you’re not fighting? Are you breaking up?” she asks, a hopeful lilt to her voice while she twirls a curl at her ear. The girl is worse than Kevin, despite all appearances to be matronly and mature. She’s just a little girl playing dress up.

Lucas fixes her with a hard enough stare to make her scrunch back in her seat, properly cowed. Even the _thought_  of being... _impermanent_ sends anxiety licking up his throat. “Betty and I are made for each other. The next time you even _think_ to insinuate otherwise, I recommend you shove that headband down your throat and choke on it.”

Ethel’s reddish-brown eyebrows arch into her hairline in surprise. “I—okay. You don’t have to be _rude_ about it.”

These people don’t respond to anything else. With one last withering glare in Ethel’s direction, Lucas turns his attention where he _wants_ it. Betty and Kevin have kept the domestic dispute under wraps so it’s just a matter of being seen in public with her again before anyone gets too suspicious of their time apart. It’ll be like nothing happened. Publicly, at least. He can’t promise what it’ll be like behind closed doors. She hasn’t had to repeat an outfit yet (it looks like she bought some cheap temporary clothes to last a few days), so no one knows she hasn’t been staying at home. The Coopers have texted or called him every day to ease his anxiety, reassuring him that it’s only a matter of time and he only needs to stay away for a few days.

But it’s Friday night. It’s been three days. There’s only so much distraction he can keep over the weekend. His focus jilts at the painted car in the Reserved space out front. Sheriff Keller is here.

Panic swells inside of him. How long has he been here? Who is he talking to? Is it something unrelated to his current conundrum? Will Ethel Muggs open her attention-starved trap? Or is this just the Sheriff checking on his son? Lucas mentally runs a checklist of who he could be talking to, what they could be saying. He needs to do damage control… _now_. He’s already turned in his pictures and small videos of Archie stalking Betty. The Wards will get the nonexistent charges dropped, the investigation sidelined. But first he needs his girl. That one point of instability.

This isn’t _enough_. Life without Betty isn’t enough. 

Having had enough of the silent treatment, Lucas storms up to her table, much to the surprised apprehension of its inhabitants. “I don’t mean to intrude, but, Kevin, your father’s here. I believe he needs to speak to you on a private family matter.”

“Oh.” Kevin registers blankly, glancing from Betty to Lucas, not sure what to say. Lucas tries not to blink, his fingers jerking the rings around his fingers. Kevin raises an eyebrow at Betty, not sure if it’s all right to leave. “Betty?”

Her pink mouth (even without lipstick) opens with plush trepidation.

The air is practically tingling with the opportunity to be alone. His heart thrums in his chest, a symphony of  _yes_  as her eyes meet his. “She’ll be all right.” Lucas nods, attention fixed firmly on his girl. It's like she's thawing, heart opening up to him again right before his eyes.

“Um…okay?” Kevin half-asks, putting his things away. “To be honest Lucas,” he says quietly, standing a few inches taller than him, “I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here with her. Betty’s been through a lot, and I told you she needs some space to figure this out.”

“I know,” he says tightly, just wanting to go back to watching her, aware that she’s already gathering her things to leave, preparing to flee on instinct. But she won't get away so easily this time. “I’ll take care of her. Besides, how much space can she need if she's constantly being fawned over by you and whatever variant of worthless bystander she's texting?”

Tensing, Kevin turns back to his rigid friend. “Um, Betty? How about you come with me? We need to finish talking about that _project_ of ours.”

“Anything I can help with?” Lucas asks, angling between them and trying to keep the hostility out of his tone.

Betty shakes her head subtly. "Not now, Lucas. Kevin, let's just go."

An uneasy, ugly chuckle cuts through his throat. “Betty, this is childish. You know we belong together. You belong with your family.” His girlfriend gives Kevin a wary glance, and for the first time he wonders if she's looking for affirmation to stay away from him.  “Betty!” he commands, instinctively grasping her wrist. Air hisses through her teeth at the contact. “It's been _days_. You’re not giving me a chance.”

She cringes at the words, inciting panic and anger through his veins. It's not like he’s poisonous, it's not like he's _dangerous_. Fleetingly, he remembers her bruised shoulder, and she must too, because she starts trying to edge away without meeting his gaze. "You're still angry and I'm still upset. I just...I want to be sure there isn't going to be any more collateral damage before we talk again." Where the hell is his guardian angel? The one who tackled those Bulldogs and threatened Cheryl? She wouldn't have been afraid of a little chaos. This Betty just tilts her chin away from him, hiding. “I don’t _have_ to give you another chance.”

His gaze sears into her face, wishing he could brand her with it. “Yes. You promised me.” A stray finger claws at where her ring should sit. “We’d be family.” And yet she left her family. Abandoned them. Abandoned  _him._ Without realizing, his grip constricts around her, along with his lungs in his chest, forcing out any air.

“ _Let go of me_ ,” she hisses with quiet intensity, eyes flashing dangerously. Like she’s possessed, abducted or brainwashed somewhere he can’t quite reach her. He wants an apology. He wants her back.

“Hey man, let her go,” Kevin starts, putting his hand on Lucas’s shoulder. “My dad’s here. You wouldn’t want to do anything stupid.”

_Stupid?! STUPID?!_ It was stupid to fall for a girl in the first place. To leave himself weak and vulnerable like this. To think he could trust someone to weave herself into his future, to make it stronger instead of frail.

Betty tries to twist away from him, his grip instinctively tightening around her. She _promised_ him. “Lucas! You're hurting me!” she shouts, halfway between an alarm and a plea, her shoulder arching into him to try and get back some leverage.

A solid shove knocks Lucas back, dazed. Kevin’s eyes are defiant, shoulders squared off in the familiar stance of someone who’s been bullied most of their lives. "I said to back off."

Tunnel vision and adrenaline shoot through him faster than expected. This pretentious fiend has the nerve to pretend to be his friend and then keep Betty from him? “You just made a big mistake.”

“Did I?”

His fist makes it into Kevin’s jaw, knocking his holier-than-thou face to the side. Some _thing_ or some _one_ quickly shoves between them to push Lucas father away, knock him back.

He’s sure there are words happening, he’s sure Kevin is turning back around, but he just wants to set the world on fire. He keeps feeling the pressure on his chest, palms pushing him back, and then all of a sudden it hits him. That’s the sheriff’s son. He just _punched_ the sheriff’s son.

Eyes wide without seeing, he clutches what he’s fairly certain is Betty closer against his chest, trying to calm the pulsing heartbeat in his throat. It's uncomfortable, but he tries to drag her away like this. If he could only get her alone...then he could _explain_.

It's possible there are apologies and pleas somewhere in the midst of everything. But it's too late. He's punched the fucking Sheriff's son. And it's all her fault for not  _listening_ to him, for not giving him a chance. She's being irrational, and he doesn't have  _time_ for that. They don't have _time_.

"We have to leave town," he says quickly. Could he get her a new name? Probably.

They only manage to make it to the parking lot, limbs tangling, tripping, before they snap apart, sending him hurtling towards the car alone. Maybe not _quite_ alone. Lucas could swear that shadows with leather jackets surge out of the corners of his eyes. Kevin Keller is already running to them and Betty is distraught, trembling as he calls her name.

"Have you lost your mind? You can't just go around punching people and dragging them off! Why can't you talk to someone? They could help you."

"You were supposed to help me! We _were_ helping each other. I was your perfect boyfriend, and you repaid me with this? You're the one I talk to, Betty! YOU! Not anyone else! Not your mom, not your friends, _you_! And you took that away from me."

Her voice comes out a strangled sob. "I'm sorry. I'm not going to Harvard."

The screaming white noise in his ears overwhelms him, and he's fairly certain he's going to hurl. He's aware of Kevin going back inside to get his father. She doesn't just mean she's not going to Harvard. She's not going with  _him._

She's saying something else, but he doesn't have the time or self-control to drag her safely into the car.

When he gets home, he notes that flecks of blood are on his shirt. Betty’s blood. Her palms. On his chest.

_Fuck._

_FUCK._

Desperately trying to wash it out, he can’t help the sobs wracking his throat. What if that’s the last time he gets to see her? Grunting, wishing it was a scream, he punches the mirror, letting the shards shatter in the sink below.

None of this is perfect. None of this is right.

Ignoring his father’s incapacitated body slumped on the couch, Lucas packs one of his bags, takes a few of the emergency kits, and heads out. He’ll go to the empty pastel halls of the Cooper house, study the shrine there for clues as to how make this right. Betty’s not there. Betty’s not there and she should be. They should be _together_.

Maybe they just _can’t_ be in Riverdale. Too many ties to the past. And he has to cut them out.

 

* * *

 

Betty studies her wrist, strangely satisfied and yet disappointed when she doesn’t find a ringed bruise blooming there. Everything’s happened so fast. It’d be nice to have a reminder that everything is _real_. The jostling of the bus unnerves her, as does Kevin’s radio silence. He’d looked fine when she left him in the capable hands of Sheriff Keller. At least now once they find him, Lucas will be forced into anger management. Or juvie, she thinks dimly. Maybe he can turn things around. Maybe one day they'll be friends. Or just...better.

But did she do that to him? Did she  _make_ him crazy? Or was he unstable all along?

Something tightens in her chest. It's not like she's the poster child for stability. Lucas and her used to help each other through this stuff. And she's not there for him _now_. So even though her wrist is throbbing and Kevin's face is freshly cut, she worries about him. 

Sighing, she lets her head clang against the back of the window pane and allows the haunting music of Lana del Rey wash over her, unsure if the lyrics are _violins_ or _violence,_ dully aware of the intentional confusion.

 

_Loving you is hard, being here is harder._

_You take the wheel_

_I don't wanna do this anymore, it's so surreal_

_I can't survive if this is all that's real._

 

Eventually the bus rattles to a stop, and it seems like she's arrived in a totally different world. Maybe that’s a good thing.

Her feet almost bounce against the crunchy leaves on the ground. Everything seems like some kind of muted green, a vintage dream speckled with the faintest strokes of color. A little uncertain, she treks down the somewhat granola-textured dirt path to what her research indicated should be the farm. There’s smoke, but whether it’s incense or a small pyre of flowers burning evades her untrained nostrils.

A few people pause their own journeys on the way, tilting up their heads up under sun hats to watch her walk down. Betty suppresses the instinct to smile and wave, settling for a head nod and lip quirk instead. What’s Polly’s life _been_ like since leaving the Cooper house? Quaint? Calm? Or is it hard out here?

Eventually an almost purple-black barn takes shape in the distance, white paint a stark contrast in a branching icon she doesn’t recognize on the side. A large man in overalls stands just outside of it, and Betty figures she might as well ask him as anyone. The overalls indicate he might work on a farm. “Excuse me, what’s that symbol on the side of your barn?”

“It wards off evil.” He answers, his deep voice rumbling, somehow giving off the impression it travels along at shin-level, sniffing out inconsistencies in its path. “And it’s not my barn. It’s the Farm’s. It’s all of ours. Are you a sinner?”

She hesitates, not sure what he means. The safe answer, since it’s clear he’s expecting one, is, “Aren’t we all sinners at one point or another?”

He nods, serious. “Are you here for salvation?”

That would be nice, she thinks. “I’m here to see my sister, Polly Cooper? My name is Betty.”

“Betty, huh?” The man eyes her once over, sizing her up as if he’s not so sure she _belongs_ there. Ultimately, he nods. “Follow me.”

This could be a terrible idea, so she sends a quick text to Kevin, noting that there’s no signal in this area so it bounces back almost immediately. Must be all the trees. Feeling just the slightest tingle of apprehension, she follows the man through the barn, fingers clenching her keys _just in case_.

When they move through the dark musty barn, the fresh smell of grass and lavender greets her on the other side. Her gaze immediately goes to one of the girls shucking some kind of vegetable, perhaps beans. Polly looks the same and yet…healthier. _Glowing_. Her blonde hair is still long, strong, held back only by a woven headband and falling freely down her back. Feeling tears prick at her throat, Betty rushes forward, past her guide, hurtling towards what feels like _home_.

 

* * *

 

Jughead’s heart feels like it’s lodged in his throat. Wind pummels his neck, the flaps of his leather licking his skin so hard it might as well leave whip marks.

_You are whipped_ , an inner voice that sounds surprisingly like Sweet Pea mocks.

_Shut the fuck up_ , he tries to silence it. He supposes an internal monologue is just proof that he’s insane or upset or _something_ but what else is he supposed to feel knowing that Lucas is on the run, so is Betty, and _no one can reach her?_ With a motorcycle vibrating between his thighs, the noise barrier probably shattering somewhere or another, he tries not to imagine every car behind him is Lucas. Should that crazy blonde show up, there’s no doubt in his mind that Lucas would ram his expensive car right into his bike in the hopes it’d squash him under it. He has no desire to be scraped off of anybody’s windshield, although if he keeps going this fast around corners it might be pavement instead.

When he eventually gets to the bus stop Kevin mentioned, there’s nowhere even vaguely appropriate to park his motorcycle. Feeling like an idiot, he drags it behind a shrubbery and covers it as best he can. If Lucas sees it there may be a few crushed headlights and flat tires in his future. Whatever. As long as Betty’s okay.

Kevin’s message had them all up in arms. Lucas attacked them, tried to abscond with Betty, and when Sheriff Keller went to his house to arrest him, he was gone. The Serpents that had shadowed him (per Jughead’s request, for which he’ll probably have to do something stupid in return) said he left his house with two bags, one of which jangled with metallic foreboding. Then he made a pit stop at the Cooper house to get some papers or something and now they had no fucking idea where he went except that he left Riverdale. Betty had gotten on the bus to whatever funny farm Polly was staying at, but weirdly enough Lucas didn’t check in at the bus station. Either he wasn’t going to find her at all or somehow he already knew where she was headed. Did the Coopers let him in on it?

Archie is at practice, unreachable, and Kevin is stuck doing paperwork for assault. Betty apparently gets no cell service here, so no one’s been able to check in on her. Of course now that he’s here, that also means he has no way of alerting _them_ if she’s safe or not. The anonymity he needs to check on her is enough to make him stow his jacket safely with his bike. Safe. What a concept. He half-trots down the path, wanting to start screaming her name. If Lucas does have a gun, that’ll be a nice way to draw the attention to himself. So instead he finds the most barn-like structure he can and moves quickly like he knows where he’s going, so no one will suspect anything. It smells weird. Like incense and sacrifice with a bit of wilderness thrown in for good measure.

A few people turn to look at him curiously. They're all wearing some variation of hippie clothes, overalls, peasant tops. Jughead's plaid doesn’t stand out too badly but his leather jacket most certainly would have. The beanie is probably the biggest thing that sets him apart from the crowd, but a lot of them have hats so that’s no big deal. Momentarily, he wonders if the abundance of hats will hinder his search for a particular blonde. Either a Ken doll with dark roots or the ponytail that launched a thousand sentiments. It doesn’t even occur to him to look for Polly.

 

* * *

 

Enveloped in her sister’s arms, Betty feels boneless. Only a few happy tears squeeze out, pure relief and joy that her sister is _safe_. She’s okay.

They fit together like puzzle pieces, all of her worries melting away with each lingering second, each continued reassuring smile from Polly. Betty finds herself mindlessly nodding, taken in by how bright and shiny her sister’s eyes are.

It’s only after a few minutes of catching up that the enthusiasm dissipates into concern. These people…the way they live…it’s almost a commune. “Polly…and I mean this in the most loving way possible, but are you…in some kind of cult?” Her eyebrows dance on her face, hoping they settle somewhere where it’s the least amount of offense.

“No, silly,” Polly laughs lightly, laying her hand on her sister’s arm. “Jason never would’ve picked out a cult. The Farm is where people go to make amends in their life, like I needed to in mine.”

The blank, subdued smile on Polly’s face makes Betty do a little somersault inside. This isn’t what she’d expected. Her sister is _happy_ , but she’s not…quite…Polly. She’s not rebelling against their mother, she’s not flirting with boys. She’s shucking beans. And listening to sermons. And…

That should be fine, Betty wants to insist to herself. Polly may have escaped becoming The Perfect Cooper Daughter but she hasn’t escaped some kind of indoctrination. Noting Betty’s significant drop in energy, Polly takes her to the Big House where _everyone_ lays to rest. The girls snuggle up on the small twin vaguely designated to Polly (although everything belongs to everyone here). It’s almost like a summer camp, bunks built in everywhere.

“I don’t know if I can sleep around strangers,” Betty shivers, dragging some kind of handmade blanket around her shoulders. Thankfully no one else is resting right now, but that doesn't mean they won't just walk in.

“I’ll stay with you for a few minutes until you feel comfortable, silly,” Polly chides, very matronly. Betty’s eyes flutter briefly to her sister’s loose peasant top, wondering if what looks like weight gain is more than just eating nothing but corn and beans. As they both settle in the small space, Polly gently brushes Betty’s hair back from her face. “So do you want to tell me what happened with mom and dad?”

Wincing in a smile, Betty nestles her face deeper in the prickly pillow beneath her. “It wasn’t just them, although mom was a big part of it.” Taking a deep breath, she tries to face her sister. “I fell in love.”

Nodding, humming an affirmation in her throat, Polly says, “I figured you would. Archie?”

“No.” The thought almost sends a shudder through her. It’s weird to even think she liked him at the start of the past summer. Archie has shown himself to be a true blue friend, worthy of affection. Just…not that kind, anymore. “His name is Lucas Ward. He transferred in this year, and surprisingly, Mom and Dad loved him.” Polly’s eyebrows arch in surprise, and she wishes the story was simple. “ _I_ loved him. And then…things just started falling apart. He was on me _all_ the time.”

Polly clears her throat, raising her eyebrows and smoothing her top.

“Not like that. Although—“ she cuts herself off, blushing. “It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t pulling my weight. It felt like _nothing_ I did was good enough. And you know mom and dad—they fed off into that, like loving me meant forcing me into this box of what they thought was the perfect daughter and wife.”

“Wife?” Polly interrupts with a harsh edge to her expression.

Shrinking, Betty nods. “We exchanged promise rings.”

Somewhere between impressed and flabbergasted, Polly brings a hand to her chest. “ _Betty_.”

“I know.” Even though she’s practically hiding under the blanket, Betty can’t help but feel exposed. “I loved him. I trusted him. And…things were easy a lot more than they were hard. I thought we were literally going to spend the rest of our lives together. And then…” Tears well at the corners of her eyes, but thankfully they don’t fall. “People started noticing bruises.” Polly’s nostrils flare, but she doesn’t comment. “And I just let it slide at first, because Lucas—Lucas and I shared something…we were both dealing with…you know.”

“No. I don’t know,” Polly says tightly, and Betty gets the feeling that she’s grinding her teeth. “Tell me.”

Flexing her palms, Betty rolls onto her back. “Do you ever…feel like instead of breaking down you have to break yourself?”

Polly’s silence isn’t exactly reaffirming, so Betty closes her eyes, throwing an arm over her face to hide her embarrassment. “Well…I do. And Lucas helped me with that. Except instead of breaking himself, he’d…break…whatever made him angry. To fix it. And sometimes that was me.” At her sister’s measured breathing, Betty feels like she can’t just stop the story there. “I just…I couldn’t help him enough. I couldn’t convince him that we were good enough. It’s like, Mom, Dad, and Lucas were constantly trying to build this crazy version of _us,_ regardless of who was hurt or who we were in the process. They were all working so hard to craft this _perfect_ future where the Coopers and Wards were the best. And that might’ve been okay, but then he tried to hurt _innocent_ people, Polly. Burn their trailers down. Intimidate old men. Stab bullies. Like…that was just what he _had_ to do to keep our relationship on the right track, to keep _me_ away from the _wrong_ people. When Mom found out about everything, which I guess she and Lucas have been reading my diary, she just…basically told me I should accept it. That these are just _sacrifices_ in getting to a great relationship. And I just…I don’t think that’s right. I never had to sacrifice anything in my relationships with friends. With Jug? Archie? Kevin? So I left. I just knew I needed to find you, to make sure that what happened to me wasn’t what happened to you.”

Humming, Polly shifts closer to her side, long hair draping off their cot from the rest of the room. “No, Betty. Jason hurt me, but he never laid a hand on me or anyone else. Mom and Dad are who they are. We all have limited control over our emotions, and yet infinite control over our destiny.”

Baffled, Betty frowns at her older sister. “What does that mean?”

"Perhaps the heavier topics are best saved for when you're well rested. Here, let me get you something."   Polly provides Betty a mug of hot tea from a thermos near her bed.

“Drink. Sleep. We can talk later about your future path. You’ll always have a place with me, Betty. As long as you accept salvation, the Farm can take care of all of us.” Polly brushes a stray hair behind Betty’s ear. “You know, I think you’d benefit from talking to one of our group leaders. He really helped me navigate the world of order and chaos."

Who’s  _all of us,_  she wonders, brow furrowing. But Polly sighs and starts rambling, unaffected by their strange circumstances. They chat aimlessly as Betty sips the tea, her eyelids getting heavier as she listens to the calming voice of her sister.

 

* * *

 

Through the fog, Betty's vaguely aware this might be a dream, but it doesn't mean her heart is going to beat any less frantically. She’s in her bedroom. Her mother stands behind a film camera, tilting her head in an abstract way like she’s judging a painting in a gallery. “She’s not very pretty. But we’ll just have to make do.” Polly’s humming in the background, although she’s already moving out the door by the time a sluggish Betty can turn to her.

Suddenly a figure in a dark purple blazer is at her side, hand around her waist. “I think she’s perfect. Let’s make it good for the cameras, shall we?” His mouths ravages her for a few heated, messy, moments, his hand squeezing her throat affectionately before he steps back into the shadows.

“Where are you going?” she asks, feeling afraid, vulnerable in front of the camera.

“Making you even more perfect,” Lucas responds, eyes flashing before the lights go out. Fluttering and cawing rustles around the room, but in the dark she doesn’t know where it’s coming from.

“Lucas?” she breathes, heart pounding. Her hands go out, trying to find something to grab onto. Something feathery and hard slams into her body, streaking pain across her arms, her cheeks. Are those…birds?

“I always knew you were a Hitchcock blonde,” a voice she’s fairly certain is Jughead muses dryly.

Trying to breathe deeply, fists clenched, Betty tries to imagine something that could get rid of the birds. The cold chill of water steadily rises in the room, flooding up past her chest at an alarming rate. The birds, incensed, hide and flutter about the room, some still trying to find purchase and punishing her with their talons and beaks. Seeking reprieve, she dives underwater. It’s like her chest is being crushed, her lungs yowling for air. But the second she pushes back up for air, everything smells like iron, tastes like blood. The birds are screaming, and maybe she is too.

 

* * *

 

“Betty!”

Jolting awake, Betty gasps as if she’s been punched in the gut, quickly glancing around the room until her eyes settle on the relieved figure of her old friend. Before she can fully get out of the twin bed, Jughead’s arms wrap around her torso soundly. His chest is warm, soft, even if the muscles underneath are firm. Feeling a little thrown, her hands pat his back comfortingly, still trying to come to terms with her racing heartbeat from the nightmare.

“Jug. How did you find me?”

Holding on tightly for one second longer, Jughead backs up just enough to collect himself. He has a constellation of beauty marks on his left cheek. She knows this. She's known it for years, but right now they're sort of fascinating. Just like that night at the drive in. The stars. She resists the urge to touch them, trying to pull her brain into the realm of the living as he explains what he's doing there. “I heard about Lucas and the library. Kevin said you’d be coming here. Look, we don’t have a lot of time. Lucas took off with some papers from your parents’ house and possibly a weapon of some kind and we don’t know where he is.” Before she has time to even process things, he takes her hands in his own, making sure he doesn’t press against the scars or hurt her. “Betty, there’s no reception up here. I really need to make sure that you’re safe and that Lucas is found before anything else. Would you be okay coming with me, a ways away from the farm, just so we can be sure Polly and you are kept safe until Lucas is found?”

It strikes her as oddly thoughtful that he’d be worried about Polly’s safety. “Wouldn't she come with us?”

“No,” Polly answers, appearing in such a timely manner that Betty wonders if she was waiting by the door. “My mission requires I follow the farm's safety procedures. Don’t worry. Edgar is very good at hiding people.”

“Edgar?”

“He’s the health expert on the farm,” she says, as if that explains everything. “His plans are only for members of the community, otherwise I’d offer for you to stay. We don't really have time to baptize you yet.”

Baptize her? Part of her wants to cling to Polly, to ask just what the hell kind of place this is, to take her away into the woods. But if Edgar can hide Polly...maybe that'll keep her safe for now. She can always come back for her. Jughead would help her, right?

Chewing his lip, Jughead looks worriedly between the two sisters. His attention settles hesitantly on Betty, noting the way her hair drapes down around her face instead of up in its usual ponytail. “Archie’s going to meet us in the woods once we can find a signal to send him our location. We’ll camp out for the weekend or however long it takes for this whole thing to blow over.”

“I don’t think anything’s _blowing over_ ,” Betty sighs, rubbing her forehead. "But I'm pretty sure Lucas would never try to kill me." Polly waits quietly, expectantly by the door while Jughead half-kneels at her feet. Nothing feels  _real_ right now. She might as well make the best of it. “Okay. Let’s go into the woods.”

 

* * *

 

Jughead picks up his knees a little more in the effort to stretch his black boot-cut jeans and somehow make them more appropriate for hiking.

“So…is the Farm actually some kind of cult?”

“Probably,” Betty sighs, clearly not eager to talk about it. In fact, she surprises him by stopping, closing the gap in her lead and offering him an odd hybrid of a smile and a grimace. “Can we just…pretend that the people and problems outside of these woods don’t exist for a while?”

“Um. Sure,” he replies, tugging his beanie a little tighter over his head and squeezing her collar in what he hopes is reassurance. “We don’t have to talk about anything. Um…or we can talk about movies. Books. What’s new?” It sounds forced, only half a joke, but it's the best he can do.

Looking resigned, Betty tilts her face up to the sky, foraging a path ahead. “Well. I can either go back to my parents, join a cult, or live out in the woods,” Betty shrugs, a sarcastic _not too bad_ curve to her mouth. It’s not funny, it shouldn’t be, but Jughead laughs anyway.

“So many great options.” He walks a little more decidedly along the trail, prodding the ground with a stick that branches almost like a broom. “What can I offer? Mm, a gassed-up one-bedroom in a trailer park? A membership in the local teenage gang? My spot at the drive-in?”

“Wait, really?” Her smile is accentuated with a confused squint. His chest tightens at the thought of her in _any_ of those situations…somewhere in his world. _Wanting_ to be there, however  pathetic different it is from their golden childhood. “You stay at the drive-in?”

Shaking away his stupid fantasy, he offers her a wry smile. He pumps one fist in the air like it’s a badge of honor. “Welcome to the army of homeless youths, Betts.”

Giggling, clearly overtired and bordering on slap-happy, she falls into him, her fist connecting with his. The endearment, the fact that he _bro-fisted_ Betty over being _homeless_ is beyond him right now. They must both be out of their minds at this point. Her arm snares into his, hair sliding across his shoulder. “It’s not so bad, right? I mean, I found Polly. I found you. Or you found me. The point is, we’re together.” His breath stutters in his throat and he hopes he can blame it on the exercise. Like she needs another relationship to worry about with all the other crap going on in her life right now. “Plus,” she continues, lightening the mood. “Look at that view."

His sarcasm rings through the forest. “You mean trees?”

Marching forward, their arms brushing against one another, they make their way to the edge of the clearing. “Can’t you just imagine little Bambis running through here?” He opens his mouth only to be silenced by a pointed glare. “Don't bring up the hunters or moms. Okay?”

“Fine, only mating season,” he mutters, clambering up beside her. From a cursory glance, the field is _nice_. There’s a small outlet of water feeding into the forest, speckles of daffodils and violets brightening the shrubbery. Realistically, he’s too tired and grateful _not_ to look at Betty, who is easily glowing even under the grime of travel. The fading light filtering through the leaves can’t possibly do her justice, but it is poetic nonetheless.

Her eyebrow quirks, mouth drawn back in uncertainty. The uncomfortable reality that he’s been staring again is probably setting her on edge. It’s just…he doesn't know what might've happened if Lucas had managed to get her into his car. Betty’s still watching him with that befuddled expression, a small confused smile creeping up her cheeks.

“What?” he asks, afraid of the answer.

“Mating season?”

Saliva coats his tongue and he has to awkwardly readjust his suspenders before moving forward. “Yeah. You know, in the movie…at the end, when they’re all heart-eyes for each other. I reserve the right to bat my eyelashes.”

Suppressing an almost drunk-sounding snort, Betty follows him down the embankment. “You would.” He turns to face her, raising his own eyebrow. It’s not like he’s some Lothario swiping girls off their feet. Teasing, she smiles at him before looking up under her own eyelashes. “You know, two years ago I never would’ve pegged you for a flirt.”

“I’m not,” he scoffs.

“Yes you are.” She raises her eyebrows pointedly in his direction. Oh. So she’s _noticed_ the flirting thing. Huh. Pleased, but trying to suppress it, he turns away, shrugging off his plaid shirt and tying it around his waist. “ _Seeee_?” she preens, tip-toeing closer to him. “Who taught you your moves, Jug? Because I _know_ you didn’t get them from Archie.”

The thought of Archie using any moves at all makes him roll his eyes. And learning them from the Serpents? As if his lack of a love life wasn’t already considered a disaster. “I don’t have any _moves,"_ he insists, eyes drawn to her shoulders as she removes and ties her sweater around her waist. He's not sure if the "move" is meant to mock him or she's just feeling warm.

“ _Betty, books, and burgers. That’s what I’d call my ideal date_ ,” she quotes jauntily, slowing to a stop when she’s next to him, suddenly losing her nerve. He studies her, the way her eyes are dark and inquisitive, overcoming any trace of prior emotional weariness. Being out here suits her. Being _free_ , even if overtired, suits her. Maybe it was getting away from her parents, breaking up with Lucas, or even reuniting with Polly. He’s not…it’s probably not possible that it’s him.

The tips of her ears tinge pink under his studious gaze, but he can’t find it in himself to look away. Deciding she’s probably too loopy to give him shit for it, he shrugs one shoulder, giving in to the bait. “So? I was flirting.”

“With me,” she clarifies, her tone unreadable.

“Yeah,” he laughs, face going soft, smile lopsided. “With you. I was flirting with you. Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” Her foot twists into the dirt, lip curling in a wry challenge. “So that was a move. Do you have any other ones?”

Rolling his eyes, Jughead scratches the back of his neck, suddenly feeling sweaty and hot and altogether uncomfortable in his skin. “Um, besides the whole yawn and stretch thing? No.” When she doesn’t say anything right away, he wonders if he should be reciprocating the question. Still, the thought of learning Betty’s moves, ones she’s used on someone _else_ (probably the potential serial killer that they’re pretending doesn’t exist right now) doesn’t really sit well with him.

“Have you ever been in love?”

The question sticks into him with the sureness and sharpness of an arrow.

 

Jughead’s brows knit in surprise and possibly consternation beneath his inky curls and grey crown cap. “What?”

Betty feels like swallowing her own tongue, but being out here still feels like being in a different world. One without consequences. Without expectations. She’s just a person in the woods. Well, they’re _two_ people in the woods, technically.

Jughead looks better—more _Jughead_ -y without the leather jacket. The plaid shirt she’s used to seeing him in hangs at his waist, only a white tank top covering a surprisingly lean, muscular frame to make it easier to hike without sweating. She prefers being on his left side, where she can’t see the little snake tattoo curled on his shoulder, a permanent reminder of his attachment. Like that ring she wore around her finger. The comparison jabs hard at her composure, straightening her spine in momentary agony. 

None of this should bother her out here. This is the woods. The past shouldn’t exist here. And it shouldn’t bother her at all, really. They’ve both grown up. He probably feels this misplaced affection and protectiveness too. It’s natural, considering they grew up together.

_Anything can happen in the woods_. Kevin’s made her see _Into the Woods_ twice. Once, a shoddy Greendale production that she’d helped him audition for, and once when the movie came out. The story makes her uncomfortable, especially with Rapunzel and the controlling Witch mother. But all of the characters have their flaws. She hates the scene where a married Prince Charming seduces a fairly willing Baker’s Wife in the woods, claiming, _“Right and wrong don't matter in the woods, only feelings.”_

Because right and wrong _matter_. 

Don’t they?

Feelings matter too.

Heart pulsing, unsure, she looks at the trees, their silent audience.

_Prince_ _Charming_. Automatically, her mind has to suppress the image of a beaming blonde boy with pale eyes and a purple suit jacket, a familiar ache in her wrist resurfacing, needing to be tended to. Instead, she replaces the image with Chris Pine in the movie musical, his Cinderella asking why their marriage had fallen apart, why he was the way he was, and his response, so simple and unapologetic. “I was raised to be charming, not sincere.”

But Lucas _was_ —

She cuts off the thought. Lucas can’t exist out here in the woods. It’s too hard right now. Too painful and confusing for how much sleep she's had. And Jughead’s still waiting for her to say something, carefully watching her with vibrant greens and pinks behind him, the slowly setting sun warming his nearly olive skin.

Clearing her throat with a forced chuckle, (she doesn’t want to pretend anymore, not out here, but Jughead’s feelings are important), she turns her face to the sunset instead. “Personal question. Too much, I guess. It's probably all the fresh air or whatever herbs were in that tea.” At his conflicted silence, she tries to turn back to him a little more casually, the hollow scent of wood marginally calming her nerves.

Jughead takes a short, struggled breath, before admitting, “I’ve thought about it.”

“Really?”

He gives a sharp nod, hand scrubbing the underside of his head. His tank top stays firmly tucked into his jeans thanks to his quirky suspenders. Are there any other gang members who wears _suspenders_? But Jughead’s not the Serpent Prince out here. He’s Jughead. Her friend. Her…person.

Taking a few more heavy steps towards her in his boots, Jughead keeps his gaze flittering on the path, like he’s expecting a trap to snap up at him any second. “I write sometimes, so yeah…inevitably, I’ve thought about it.”

“And?” she quirks an eyebrow, excited and impatient. _Jughead? In love?_ The thought makes her insides taut.

Surprised, he glances up at her. “And…what?”

Trying not to grin incredulously at his confusion, she prods, “What did you think?”

His eyes flicker down her face, resting just a moment on her mouth before falling to her white shoes, probably stained with mud beyond any bleaching. “It’s not something that really suits my lifestyle. Hard to believe it works out for anyone else, given the track record of parents in Riverdale.”

“You’re not a gang member out here, Jughead. And for a lot people, love isn't enough to make things work. It doesn't have to be forever."

"For me it does."

Heart pounding in her ears, she wonders if her body is telling to her to run. But she doesn't feel afraid. In fact, she feels more stricken than anything else. Jughead, on the other hand, looks like he wants to bolt through the trees, studiously pretending to be garnering directions from the invisible stars.

She was supposed to love Lucas forever. Her family was supposed to love her. But love...was hard. And it wasn't always good.

It's sort of weird to think about...that he's helping her run from her family when he's longing for his own. It still astounds Betty that Gladys...that FP could hurt him that way. But Betty abandoned Lucas. She abandoned Alice and Hal and now maybe even Polly because she was hurting. And now they're probably hurting too. Just like Jughead. Guilt swirls in her stomach, but the tension in her gut shoves it back to reaffirm that none of those problems are real out here. Is she supposed to love everyone forever, no matter what they do to her?

"I'm sorry."

As if suddenly realizing the implication of what he's just said, he turns to her, eyes worried, gestures conflicted and scrambling. "Betty, I don't want you to think that...I expect...or that you should..." For once she wants to tug the beanie off his head and expose not just the beautiful hair she glimpsed at _Innuendo_ , but to expose his mind. "People change. Some love stories are short ones. Some are long. It doesn't mean one is any better than the other. Just...for me, I want to fall in love once or not at all." He swallows hard, eyes flickering across her. "You're stronger than that. You, by yourself, are enough. You're strong enough for love. Real love. Not the bullshit our parents have. Had." Shaking his head, Jughead looks like he'd like to melt into the ground, bury himself under the leaves and forget this conversation ever happened, much like she'd like to forget her problems.

Heart throbbing, she treads a little closer, one hand curling gently on his bare arm. The snake on his shoulder looks a little less like it wants to bite her now. "Juggie, you're enough too. You've already been through so much. You've always said that we're not like our parents. What makes you think you're not strong enough to handle love? ”

Cheeks flaming, he stares at her. She’s not sure _why_ she’s pressing this. Why she’s transfixed by the way his mouth falls partially open, his breath hitching in his chest. “I’m…it’s dangerous,” he stutters. “It's messy. It's fucked up. I wouldn’t want to bring anybody else into that.”

“It is dangerous,” she agrees, eyes trailing to the forest. Any number of things could be out there. All she can hear are the occasional bugs or birds, blaring a warning, singing for love or just letting the world know they exist. “But love isn’t really supposed to be safe. Anything can happen. Whether it’s the best…or the worst.” Instinctively, she holds herself tight, trying to repress the shiver threatening to take her over. That's all she's ever felt like, the only options available to her. The best or the worst. She was never allowed to be in between. Both, yes. But not in between.

Jughead reaches for the spot her neck and shoulder meet, massaging a knot there she didn’t even know existed. 

"Maybe...it's complicated. Maybe it's more than that."

Their eyes meet, and for a heated second she thinks she’s going to black out from the intensity of everything. Instead, they’re moving towards each other, her heart trying to break out of her chest. Her eyes start to close in anticipation, mouth parted just before…Jughead winces, pulling back ever so slightly, and suddenly her heart retreats back up into her throat.

She misread. Oh god. She was about to do it again. Jump into… “Sorry. I—“

“No, it’s just…“ His eyes are glassy, a deep, churning blue pool she already feels submerged in. He’s pleading with her for something, preparing to get hurt.

“What?” she asks, still trying to let the flames of embarrassment cool on her neck.

Letting out a sad, desperate breath, he fixes her with a stare, his voice quiet but resigned in the woods, “I don’t want to be a rebound for you, Betty.”

Suddenly horrified, Betty shakes her head vehemently. Is that what he thinks of this? Of them? It's new, it's unexpected (is it? she wonders), but it's not... _that._ “No! Jughead!” He pulls back, instantly retreating into himself. She clasps either side of his jaw, trying to pour the truth into him just by staring hard enough. “You are  _so much_ to me, and a rebound isn't one of them.”

Her heart feels full to the point of spilling over, thoughts tumbling over each other in her brain. Jughead is evenings by Sweetwater River. Sea-blue eyes calm and comforting or swirling and stormy. Caramel apples on a wooden step. Long fingers at a laptop or delicately looping through her own. Strong advice and unwavering encouragement. Sarcasm laced with softness. Leather and fleece. He's so much more...

He’s _real_. Maybe that’s what makes her so drawn to him, so comforted. He never pretends. Every compliment, every moment of censure is exactly what he wants to express. She can't even remember him ever using his wit for a secondary motive. If he wanted a free meal, he'd say so. He leaves parties when he’s bored, disregards everyone’s poor opinions, calls out the idiots on their remarks even when it gets him some unwanted attention. But his support…his support is steadfast. And he was…is... _always_ on her side. At her side, really, even when she didn’t know which direction she was going. When they were younger she’d always assumed it was due to some unwavering loyalty to Archie but maybe…maybe he’s loved her…

Because Jughead is real. He wouldn't want to fall in love with a fantasy.

He wants to fall in love once, forever.

Jughead, the Serpent Prince, the gang member, is more accepting of her than the Harvard-bound...(nothing). The one she loved. Might love forever, just can't anymore...has to choose not to. And she's always loved and been loved by Jughead in a quiet sort of way... ~~knowing~~ thinking that there were limits to what he could accept before he'd push her away. They grew up and apart, yet somehow this link feels inexplicably deep and now she can't help but reach for him again in a way she hasn't really felt with Archie. The boundary's been lifted for both of them and she's not quite sure exactly how far that goes.

Jug wouldn’t kiss her if he didn’t mean it, and he wouldn’t want her to do it either unless she really felt that way. What if…what if he wants _this_ to be real? Could she really go into something just a few days after such a catastrophic fallout?  Not the Betty Cooper who smiles in photos on the mantle, but the one who scars her palms and cries at the drive-in? And what about all the stuff in between? He's known her for so long...

What if she can't do it? What if after so many years of pretending, she’s _incapable_ of being genuine? The thought sinks like a cold stone.

Swallowing, she tries to give him an out. “I know…it seems like this is coming out of a weird place. And it is. I wasn’t expecting—” she breaks off in a little humorless laugh. “This. Any of it. I don’t even know…” trailing off, she realizes she can’t lie, not looking at him like this, his whole heart on the line and hers delicately swaying in the balance. “Sometimes it’s like I don’t know myself, or even what I want. But…I know you. And…I do like you.” Swaying, feeling like the world is tumbling at her feet, Betty tries not to cry in front of him.

His lip trembles as he places one hand gently over her own. “Betty, I more than like you.” His voice, much like his face, is broken and soft, his words knocking the breath right out of her. “But what if it wasn’t me here tonight? What if Archie was the one who found you instead of me? Or what if Lucas came back? Or…”

Unsure how to reassure him, her thumbs trace his jawline, eyes going soft when they meet his guarded, wet ones. “Jug, if I just wanted to be comforted, I could've asked for a hug. Even if everyone else in the world existed, I would still want this moment. I would want this with _you_.”

She lets the realization sink in, even as his own beautiful face melts into grateful vulnerability followed by firm resolve. His hands reach up to bracket either side of her face, anticipation thrumming through her chest.

Had she been alone in the woods with Kevin, or even Archie, it wouldn’t be the same. It would be nice, relaxing, safe, but it wouldn't be _this_ , this…friendship set on fire thing she’s always read about. This tingly, eager feeling bubbling in her gut and tingling through her extremities.

“I want this, Betty,” Jughead whispers fiercely. "I want it to be real."

“It will be,” she pledges, as much to herself as she does to him, and closes her own wet eyes just as their mouths clasp together.

At first it's mostly heat, their lips firmly and finally cementing the moment. He’s so beautiful, so strong and supportive. She lets him hold them there for a second, relishing the fact that _this is really happening._ They both take a breath to look at each other, to see the actual relief in each others eyes. Smiling against him, she renews the kiss with a gentle suck on his upper lip. Jughead leads her graciously a few steps back, deepening their kisses until the languid movements have her practically aching and grinning for more. Her fingers even dare to edge up into the soft tangles of his hair, edging the fuzzy texture of his knit beanie in a way that soothes her soul. Eventually, Jughead gently urges them back up against one of the trees, letting their romantic first kisses melt into deep, almost sexual ones. He lets out a small moan of satisfaction, the sound of which reverberates through her very core.

_God_ , she thinks as her tongue briefly slicks along his. _I am totally into Jughead Jones_.

It shouldn’t be startling. It’s just…with everything going on, she didn’t expect to feel this way about _anyone_ for a while. And here Jughead’s been this whole time, this super smart, sexy, supportive guy. The urge in her is beyond wanting to be best friends or someone's lover. She wants to let him trace a story on her skin, enjoy his dry sarcasm during the day, to feel the pressure of his teeth on her lips, to curl up in the drive in and soak up his warmth.

He was half a town away. Right next door, playing with Archie. His palm wrapped around hers during those fake little wedding ceremonies they held in her backyard. And now he’s _here_ , one of his hands gravitating towards the hip she’s grinding into him while they’re in this little time bubble where nothing else is supposed to exist. She doesn’t _want_ anything else to exist. Maybe Polly, Archie, and Kevin can live somewhere in the distance. But she sure as hell wouldn’t want them to interrupt _this_. 

_How long_ , she wonders. _How long could we have been happy? How long_ ** _will_** _we be happy?_ But they’ve only just started and yet they’ve been together for so long that anything about their future seems like an abstract concept. Inevitable and indefinite all at the same time. She’s frustrated with herself for even thinking about it, for _loving_ the feeling of him pressed against her and still feeling like it isn't enough. Because he _is_ enough. _This_ is enough.

When his thumb starts tracing under her goldenrod camisole, an ache throbs startlingly between her legs. Jughead pulls back, pressing his forehead against her to catch his breath. Feeling eager, she tries to kiss him again.

“Betty,” he chuckles hoarsely, nuzzling his nose against hers. “As much as I love… _this_ ,” he finishes, strained, “I think we should take it slow.”

“We’ve known each other for 12 years. I think we’ve taken it slow enough,” she smiles, feeling cheeky as she kisses him again, bold enough to try and edge him closer between her thighs.

Their lips slick apart as he gently pulls away, eyes still hazy, partially closed. “Mm. But as far as this two-people-in-the-woods things goes, it’s only been an hour.”

“You don’t know that.” Her voice is weak, as is her argument. Because honestly she _does_ want to feel. She wants this molten feeling in her belly to be sated, explored with someone who’d never—who wouldn’t want to…

Desire cooling, she loosens her grip, letting her fingers untangle from his skin and hair. His gaze hovers on her face, trying to study the sudden drop in mood. It’s probably best her eyes are level with his collar at this angle. “You’re right. Let’s just…keep going.”

Nodding, looking uneasy, Jughead pulls back. A whisper of desire resurfaces upon noting the way his lips are swollen and red from kissing her.

Jughead Jones. The thought, the name, and the taste of the man rides on her tongue as she swipes it across her teeth.

 

* * *

 

Jughead’s still recovering as they trail towards the main encampment and a cell phone signal. It _happened_. It’s not just the hazy pastels of the sky playing tricks on him. It really happened for them. Torn between strutting and slinking around the woods, he’s not even sure what to _do_ now.

Clearing his throat, he lets his hand curve outward when he’s walking…just in case she wants to take it. Her gaze shifts from the ground to the trees, hurrying so they have time to regroup with Archie before it gets too dark. After a minute or two she looks back, noting his unusual stance. Her mouth quirks in a brief, almost nervous smile.

“You could’ve just asked.”

Her hand snaps easily into his, steadying the nervous churn in his stomach. Breathing easier, he walks at her pace, cracking the occasional joke, relishing the way her face lights up in laughter.

Finally they reach a less dense part of the forest, some kind of campsite. There’s even a parking lot. Testing their phones, Jughead is both relieved and disappointed that they finally have a signal. Betty’s phone chirps with continuous updates from what he presumes are missed calls and texts from Kevin. “I better call him back,” she sighs.

“I’ll call Archie,” he assures her, and even as his fingers press the buttons to dial he can’t help but feel the tug of disappointment when her hand slips from his own to smooth back her hair and take a seat at the picnic table nearby.

Archie, reassured of his friends’ safety, still unsure of Lucas’s location, assures Jughead he’ll be there in half an hour…45 minutes tops. It’s good that he’s coming. They’ll have somewhere to sleep. But a nervous knot still tugs somewhere in him that with Archie here, things will be different.

Betty must sense his unease, because she feigns a not-tired smile in his direction and scoots over, indicating he should sit next to her.

“He said just a little under an hour.”

She nods, her head coming to rest on his bare shoulder. Before, he might’ve jerked in surprise, but now a warmth curls through his tendons, his arm immediately reaching out to cradle her against him. They sit in amicable silence, letting the weariness drain through them.

The sky is otherworldly, swirling pinks and blues fading to the purple-gray of night. Everything has this edge of dark fantasy to it, like a twisted hand will suddenly reach out and blot the sun. But Betty’s here, and she deserves better than some dark fairy tale, so he tries to think of something nicer. A unicorn glowing like a night-light in the clearing. The image is juvenile, and he swallows against it, fingers gently plying into her shoulder for a massage.

Betty subconsciously flinches against his palm. His hand glides gently into the hollow of her waist instead. Sated, she sighs against him, nuzzling her forehead tenderly against his skin in a way that makes him feel less self-conscious about his thin sheen of sweat from hiking.

“Do you mind if I take a picture?” he asks a little lamely, wanting to hang onto whatever…moment…this is.

Her shoulder lifts in a half-shrug, as though she’s not quite sure it matters. “Sure.”

At first, he takes a picture of the sky. When her arms encircle his chest, her chin needling upwards to see the screen, he realizes she wants a picture of _them_. Of this.

Trying not to shake the phone, he flips the camera so it points back at them. At first he’s startled by the plum shadows just barely forming under their eyes, the pink in their cheeks and Betty’s lips. Her blue-green eyes scan their image, like she’s lost her place on the page, but then seems to find it again when she looks at the whole picture.

“Jug,” she says with a little awe. She doesn’t smile, and he doesn’t ask her to. When he takes the photo, her face flitters into gratitude, her body crawling up against his. Her eyes are dark and hooded when she kisses him again, and if they weren’t at the most uncomfortable picnic table in the world he’s pretty sure she’d be in his lap. His thumb accidentally stutters on the screen again, taking a photo of their kiss, and his heart does a little surge that even _that_ moment is shareable. He doesn’t want it to be. Maybe he’ll delete it. But at the same time he has to keep it forever, seared away for his private stash of _things never to be forgotten_.

“So what do you want to do until Archie gets back?” she asks, licking her chapped lips and pulling back. The haze of the darkening sky starts closing in around them.

“Well, I was pretty into what we were doing. But…about Archie,” he gulps, his hands automatically falling from her waist to clench the cheap, crisping wood beneath them. “Did you…did you want to tell him?”

“About what? Polly?”

His nails pick at the grain of the bench. “About us.” When she hesitates, he looks away, cheeks reddening. The familiar radiation of _Archie and Betty_ in their own little world burns at his confidence. If only he had his leather, it might not sting so much. “If there is an _us_ to tell him about.” It’s not like anyone’s exactly bragged about an association with him before.

The trees in outline shift from brown to black. What once seemed like an infinite escape seems more like a fence keeping them in.

Her pale hand rests on his knee, eyes clouded and uncertain. “I want to tell him, Juggie. But I also don’t want you to get hurt. I mean, if Lucas finds out…”

Relief rolls into contempt. “He already tried to burn the trailer down for _talking_ to you. I’m fairly certain the guy is unhinged no matter what our relationship is. I’m more worried about what he’d to do you.”

Betty’s brow furrows in thought, and he tries not to let it unsettle him.

They move to the general field searching for firewood. They stack it neatly at first, and then decidedly just a bit off-center. Wiping her palms on her jeans, Betty scrounges for a flower crown as she talks animatedly about different books and museum exhibits. Jughead breaks off little tidbits of his life to share with her while they lay on the grass. Anecdotes to distract each other. Thankfully Sweet Pea’s antics leave him with plenty of material to bring a wry little smile to her face.

“What about your writing?” she asks, twirling a long leaf between her fingers, eyeing him curiously. The way her fingers stroke the veins makes him want her to touch his skin, his hair, _anything_.

“What about it?” he mutters, distracted.

“Do your friends get to read it?”

“No,” he laughs, almost a wheeze, like clearing the pipes. “I can’t imagine Fangs or Sweet Pea sitting down to read a book, let alone one about Riverdale. But…no. The writing’s just been for me so far.”

She snuggles back into her sweater, shivering, and Jughead is tempted to offer her his flannel instead. It’s not quite possessiveness that makes him want to see her wearing it. She probably feels great in her own clothes. It’s more a matter of…endearment, the offering of the jacket. That’s something ~~boyfriends~~ people do for the ones they care about, like she used to offer half of her meal with him. All he has is the shirt off his back.

“Would you ever let me read it?” Her eyelashes flutter ever-so-coyly to the point that he feels a hard lump forming in his throat.

“No,” he says slowly, but he doesn’t even believe it himself.

“Why? Am I in it or something?” The flush on his skin gives him away. Her eyes light up in glee as she shifts to her knees in eagerness. “Juggie! What did you say about me?”

“Nothing, okay? You’re just…you’re there.” Her eyebrow quirks at him, forcing the air in his lungs out like he’s slowly being compressed. “Okay. You’re everywhere. You’re the only thing I write about,” he mocks, rolling his eyes. And while it’s far from true, it’s not really a lie.

Betty Cooper is a lot of his favorite things, and absolutely his favorite person. Betty is milkshakes at Pop’s, relaxing walks, a neat ponytail and fixed expression in concentration, forgiving smiles, more than meets the eye, brave blonde, the girl who picks at the scabs of injustice, shared french fries, and the unimpeachable vibrancy of the world. In a lot ways she’s his faith, his hope, and his comfort. It’s a lot for one person to represent, and he doesn’t want that to be a burden for her. Betty is so much more than all of that, and she doesn’t owe it to anybody to stay Rivderdale’s sweetheart forever. Certainly it’s _less_ weird to show her how much he admires her now that they’re…whatever they are…but reading his adoration poured out on the page seems like a big step after one day of kissing in the woods.

“Tonight must’ve given you a lot more material.” Her expression stilts between playful and nervous, so he takes a hand in his and smiles.

“I could always use another chapter.”

Tickled by his playfulness, she leans forward and kisses him full on the mouth, nails catching the back of his scalp. His body relaxes, moving to cover hers, palms guarding her so she doesn’t get grass stains on her back. Before Betty, the idea of making out seemed messy and gross and yet another social activity he’d rather avoid. But when their mouths keep moving, catching one another, it reminds him of the slow burn of the campfire. The friction of two objects, smoke bristling until finally catching flame…except with Betty it’s like he’s already low-key on fire and the kissing just keeps the sparks fueling through him. A moan licks up through his throat, and he’s not sure if it’s his or hers or if he should swallow it or breathe. None of it really matters, except that he’s connecting with Betty.

Her shoulders squirm uncomfortably beneath him, so he gently helps her roll until she’s on top. The blades of grass are like cold silky fingers caressing his exposed skin. It makes him want to jerk up into her warmth, but the balm of her hand on his cheek steadies him, grounds him.

Bobbing headlights slash through the trees, jerking the lovers apart. 

“That must be Archie,” he sighs, rubbing his beanie for luck. 

As the car pulls up closer, it kills the headlights, drenching them in darkness once more. Jughead pulls his flannel back up and over his arms. Hopefully Archie remembered to bring some spare clothes for Betty and him to sleep in. He can’t imagine their jeans would be very comfortable tonight. Betty’s hand clamps just a little too hard over his forearm. It’s not like her to clamp onto anything.

“What is it?”

“ _We have to run_.”

The tension riddled on her face makes his blood drain to his feet. For a second he’s fairly certain she’s about to bolt into the forest, and then she’s dragging him off the parking lot, moving as fast as her feet will take her. But the car is fast and heavy and veering right towards them. Betty skids to a stop, narrowly avoiding tumbling onto the hood, Jughead practically crashing into her to make sure she’s all right.

The slam of the car door makes him turn. There’s only one person it could be, and yet his brain keeps insisting that it’s just a mistake. Some drunk guy looking for camp and missing the parking lot. The car is black, compact…not the giant blue pickup Archie borrows from his dad. The owner’s shoes are expensive enough to make a slick noise on the pavement. The unmistakable click of a trigger is what halts his heart.

“Hello, Betty.” A broken, husky voice greets them dully, its owner making his way close to them. The blonde hair is askew, damp to the point of being dark brown. His button-down shirt is speckled with what might be faded blood. Lucas’s inhumanly pale eyes seem like they’re sinking inside of their sockets. There’s no frown, only a mild, ashen remainder of emotion on his face.

Betty’s nails unclench from Jughead’s forearm, flexing in the attempt not to bury them in her palms.

“Betty,” he whispers, turning to her. “What do you want me to do?”

He can _see_ her thinking, analyzing, not _quite_ panicking. If they run now, there’s probably only a 50% chance that Lucas will hit them with either his car or the weapon. And technically he’s not even _aiming_ the gun. It’s there in his hand, at his side, moving closer.

“Betty,” Jughead whispers, reaching for her hand, trying to convey that he’ll rush him if that’s what she wants. That’s when Lucas’s arm moves, effortlessly pointed right at Jughead’s head in the detachment reminiscent of Dilton Doiley with his scouts aiming at squirrels and rabbits.

“Don’t touch her like that.” Lucas shakes his head, mouth twitching. “I’ll shoot you both for wrapping your Serpent's coil around my girl.”

“Lucas,” Betty swallows, her voice quiet, like she doesn’t trust it to be louder. “How did you find me?”

Although it takes him a while to tear his murderous gaze off of Jughead, he does stop moving towards them, head tilting mechanically in response, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “You think your parents are the only ones with phone coordinates?”

Big fucking surprise. He tapped her phone. Still, the admission twists his insides. _He_ brought her here. She might’ve been safe at the farm…no signal, no homing beacon for the criminally insane. It’s his fault. And like an idiot, Jughead brought a switchblade to a gun fight. But there’s a chance…maybe Lucas will move close enough for him to disarm him. Or Archie can come and save the day, right? That’s what ginger childhood best friends are for. Riding in on big giant blue metallic steeds with lots of storage space for the dead body they’re going to need haul away.

“What did you do with him?” Lucas asks, voice thick and eyes dead as he gestures to Jughead with the gun.

Swiping her hair into a makeshift ponytail, Betty fixes Lucas with a no-nonsense stare. “We were hiking. I needed to clear my head.”

“Any _exploration_  I should know about?” he asks, fingers flexing on the trigger, the subtle shift of metal clacking on metal making Betty intake a sharp breath.

“I’m not—we _just_ broke up, Lucas.”

“Is that what we did?!” His voice is high, nearly hysterical, and once again he’s moving the gun, making Jughead’s stomach lurch with every movement. “Because I think _you_ were trying to break up with _me_ so you could run around with some south side _gangster_. You didn’t fucking _listen_ to me Betty! What the hell kind of relationship just abandons the other person after making a _promise_? After saying _I love you_?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers firmly.

“No, I’m sorry! Because _now_ , I have to punish you.” The gun sways in his direction again, adrenaline unlocking Jughead’s knees to the point he almost wobbles to the ground or haphazardly attempts to knock the weapon from his hands.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats more urgently, stunning Jughead by quietly getting on her knees, hands folded in her lap while she sits on her feet. “I’m sorry.”

The position seems to jar Lucas out of his rant, his eyes raking her dubiously. “Oh, so now you want to talk? Now you wanna be my good little girl?” The slight kinkiness to the exchange makes Jughead’s stomach tumble.

Chin tilting up, Betty keeps her voice steady. “I needed time to think. And I got it.”

“You’re damn right you _got it_ ,” he hisses, practically spitting. “Three days, Betty. Three days of pretending our lives weren’t going up in flames. Do you have any idea what you _did_ to me?” Lucas’s eyes water with indignation, and Betty swallows his hate like she deserves it. Jughead wants to go to her, to remind her what Lucas did and give her some idea of what he himself would like to do  _him_ for it.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, watery eyes nearly spilling over. Everything in Jughead is craning to comfort her. Lucas starts breathing heavily, dragging his teeth over his lip in indecision. His fingers readjust around the trigger, inciting Betty to plead as rationally as she can under duress. “You were only expecting one of us. I’m sorry. I’m here. I’m here, Lucas. Talk to me. What do you need to do? I wasn’t listening. I’m here now. I’ve had my time. We can talk.” Her ex grinds his teeth, glaring between the two of them. Her blonde ponytail draws what minimal light is left as she moves her head, distracting him. Jughead feels like he’s fading back into the darkness. “You’ve never killed anyone before, Lucas. You don’t need to. I’m here. I know it’s hard for you to trust me now, but I’m here. ”

Grinding his teeth, Lucas starts unbuckling his belt. Betty’s eyes widen in panic, and Jughead feels like he’s going to be sick. Is he going to whip her? Try to fuck her right in front of him?

“Since there is more than one of you, and trailer park boy doesn’t seem to have a belt, I’m going to need you to tie him up with this.” The leather belt snaps across the distance, its metal buckle nearly clipping Betty in the face.

“Watch it!” Jughead hisses without thought.

Unblinking, Lucas glares at him. “Possessive, I see. Betty.” He nods, gesturing with his chin. “Do it how I like.”

Hands trembling, Betty turns to Jughead, her big green eyes terrified. “I…I don’t know how.”

“You need me to walk you through it? Or are you going to be a good girl and do what I tell you? Use your brain, Betty.”

The taunt seems to snap her out of it, Betty stiffening in apprehension and demanding Jughead’s arms.

“Betty,” he whispers, eyes pleading with hers, wishing they had some kind of telepathic powers. He isn’t going to die like this, tied up and unable to protect the girl he loves (god, yes, _loves_ ). He’d rather risk rushing the guy. Her subtle head shake keeps him in place, arms out, while she begins her wrappings.

“Behind,” is Lucas’s only direction, Betty sighing and gesturing for Jughead to turn around, hands behind his back like he’s a fucking criminal. Well at least this is a position he’s familiar with. The snap of leather tightening against his skin makes his veins bulge in protest. He desperately wants to talk to her, but he figures she knows Lucas better than he does and struggles to keep his mouth shut while he’s wrapped up like a twisted present.

“Don’t make me test it,” Lucas warns.

As if on cue, Betty plucks the leather belt, showing that it’s so tight she can’t even fit two fingers behind it. She’s stalling. To keep from lashing out, Jughead starts drumming his feet against the muted ground, looking up at the stars and trying to trace constellations out of the corner of his eye. His switchblade is in his combat boot. He's going to have to do some kind of quick yoga if he wants to get it out this way.

Lucas lets out a deep, shaky breath, his non-gun-wielding hand reaching in his jacket pocket. A twinkle of metal catches their eye. “I brought _these_ for _you,_ Betty. I can always buy another belt. These are harder to come by.” Betty swallows hard, moving towards him before he stops her with one finger, looking proud of himself for thinking just a few steps ahead. “Nuh-uh. This time, you do yourself. And Jughead,” he points, finger looping through the cold circular cuff before tossing it at her. “Gets to close it off. Go ahead Betty. If he’s just a friend, some random hiking buddy, this shouldn’t bother you at all. Describe what you did in these handcuffs. In detail. Tell him what a bad girl you are for me, and how grateful you are that I took such good care of you.”

The cooling air bites at their skin, Betty looking like she’s physically struggling against the strings Lucas is trying to pull on her. “Behind?” she asks, voice thick, earning a smirk and nod from the psycho with the gun. Bobbing her head jerkily in confirmation, she clicks one of the cuffs around her hand. Lucas is _smiling_.

“Tell him, Betty. Before you turn away, tell him.”

Her eyes look dark blue now, a little wet. Steeling herself, she meets Jughead’s furrowed brow and intense gaze. He feels like he needs a riot shield and loud headphones for this. And possibly years of therapy. “I let him fuck me in these handcuffs.” It hurts, but not as much as it could.

“ _Let_ me?” Lucas scoffs. “I think you can do better than that. You _begged_ me.”

Snapping his teeth down so hard it could crack his jaw, Jughead tries to keep his cool. Kinks aside, who ties up a girl and makes her tell someone about it?

“Say it, Betty,” Lucas demands, like penance, like it’s _justice_ for her to humiliate herself for him.

Looking just a little broken, Betty nods. He just wants to hold her face, tell her it’s okay, tell her it’s in the past. “I _begged_ him to fuck me.” With a sickened hiccup, she closes her eyes against the onslaught of tears.

“Who exactly does this benefit?” Jughead asks Lucas, chest inflating furiously. “You want to make Betty cry? She says she wants to _talk_ so you try and shame her for being with you?”

Furious, Lucas uses two hands to steady the gun right at him. He’d take the bullet if it’d make Betty stop crying. “ _This_ , dear Serpent, is a _reminder_. That Betty is mine. That we…that _she_ deserves, nay, _demands_ this kind of treatment. She wants this. And to insinuate that because a _few_ times we got a little lost in the game…that she wants out, that it's over?” Lucas’s face breaks into a disbelieving grin, shaking his head. “That’s crazy!”

This is too much. This is bile and sick power struggle shit, and Jughead’s fairly certain he _is_ going to keen over here from a burst blood vessel. He can’t look at Betty’s tear-streaked face anymore. He tries counting, jiggling his toes like the faster he goes the faster Archie will get here.

Lucas glares at them in the dark. “ _You’re_ the one who needs to earn _my_ trust back, Betty…not the other way around.”

“You read my diary!” she protests bitterly. Like that’s even the _worst_ of his offenses.

“ _You_  screwed this up!” Lucas screams back, and Betty’s protests die in her throat, face furrowed in confusion. “Now finish up and come back to me. I’m still considering exactly how much of your _friend_ to spare.”

Thankfully there's no way Lucas actually believes Jughead has a chance with Betty, otherwise his skull would probably be blown across the campsite for some horrified toddler to find years later.

Swallowing distress and adopting the Cooper stiff upper lip, Betty moves behind Jughead, back to back until the metal clasp is in his hands. These aren’t fuzzy handcuffs that can be loosened by either partner, the kind his friends tease him about when they're shopping for dirty magazines. There’s no soft cushioning at all. Lucas wanted to hurt her. Now. Before. Always. And as his fingers search for the cuff, they accidentally trail over her scars.

_Fuck_.

Even if Betty’s been using pain as a way to cope…if she’d been handing over her control…that’s over now. It isn’t what she wants, and it sure as hell isn’t what she needs.

Feeling his throat swell with emotion, Jughead gently caresses her skin there, grazing the soft underside of her wrist before snapping the latch just-barely closed. He feels her thumb affectionately swipe him back. A secret code.

_I’m so sorry._

Her, for getting him into this.

Him, for not protecting her from it.

Really it’s neither of their fault, but with a gun aimed at him it feels like a good a time as any to try to make things right.

A popping noise surprises him, making him jerk to the side, trying to push Betty out of the way just as she's stumbling back against him. "Are you hurt?!" they both ask, spinning to face each other. His arm's starting to feel numb, although maybe that's just the circulation issue. The tingling feeling subsides pretty quickly once he makes sure that Betty isn't harmed.  


"Juggie," she mouths, like it's painful to speak.

The numbness paves way for a hot, searing red-poker pain. He can't really  _look_ , but Betty's horrified expression and Lucas's determined glower settle it. "You  _shot_ me?!"

"I told you not to touch her," Lucas growls, cocking the trigger back again.

"Lucas! No!" Betty forces herself in between them, blocking the line of fire. Jughead's still seeing red, the world fading to different intensities of static electricity. "I told you, I'm  _here_. It was just a goodbye. I know it's impossible to believe, but I never wanted to be in love with anybody but you. It was you. It was only and always you. You're so smart and driven and perfect for me." She sniffs, trying not to let her emotions override the outpour. "And this future we have...the future you want...it's hard to picture other people in it. But that doesn't mean they shouldn't be, that they don't have a role. I was just trying to figure it out. I just needed time. And I got it. And I found my way back to love," she swallows, head tilting down. "A love I never really appreciated until I had a moment in the woods. I'm sorry."

Lucas's face quivers. He uses one hand to wipe away a stray tear. "I'm...I was going to take you away from all of this. I was going to give you the best life you could ever ask for. And you threw it all away."

Craning her neck forwards, like she's offering it to him on a platter, Betty crawls towards him. "I put it aside, just for a while. We could still have a future. But leave this past behind, like you said. I don't want our forever to start with... _this_. He should live. Tell people what happened to us. That I chose you and you chose me, not the last scene like the library. I can talk to Kevin for you. We can leave Riverdale. We can move out to Harvard, give it a chance. Please."

"How am I supposed to trust you?"

Her eyes have gone glassy, distant. "Don't. It's not like you did before." Jughead can see her nails closing in her fist. "I'm...I belonged to you. I need to be punished sometimes. You knew that. I didn't. But now that I do, I'm so sorry for hurting you, Lucas. I didn't mean to. You reminded me what of what I need," she says, squeezing her eyes shut tight, willing tears away with the pain.

He's dimly aware of Lucas's hand on Betty's neck, pulling her in for a possessive, emotional, lingering kiss. Her fists shake with effort, blood pooling under her nails. Lucas opens his eyes amidst the end of the kiss, glaring at Jughead with the gun still pressed into her gut. Like a hot, searing bullet wound isn't agony enough. Watching Betty back in the clutches of the man who hurt her brings a whole new level of radiating emotional pain amidst the quiet chatter of the woods.

Dry, heaving, breaths wrack Jughead's chest, but Lucas barely even sees him anymore. Betty's eyes are still closed in self-defense, trying not to react to anything beyond her own numbness.

"I love you, Betty," Lucas reminds her, somewhat calmed. "We can do this. You just have to do exactly what I say."

She nods up him, biting her lip and flexing her wrecked palms.

"It's your fault."

"I know. Please. Help me."

Jughead feels like he's being torn apart in small pieces. Ripped up and shoved with gooey blood back together. The physical and emotional pain are blending all into one. His arm could literally burst into flames and he's not sure it would feel any differently.

Reluctantly, Lucas snags Betty's cell phone, prompts 9-1-1 without dialing, and drops it in the grass. He glares over at Jughead. "When we've left, you can get this. If you tell them anything about where she's gone, I'll make sure you get a part of Betty that we don't need anymore."

His stomach lurches as he watches Lucas's arm curl around her bicep, hauling her into the black car with the gun still aimed at her side.

"Betty," Jughead groans, sinking to the ground, trying in vain to reach the switchblade in his boot with the flaming, shooting pain reverberating through his veins. "Betty!" he calls, as if somehow that'll stop this insanity. His fingers curl around the metal knife, but not before the blare of a horn. He hears Lucas yell at her, a scuffle, and he keeps crawling towards them, trying to flick it open, angle it up towards the belt. The leather is thick and expensive and it takes him a few shaky tries before he can even make an incision. Sawing, hissing and agonizing through the pain, Jughead finally starts to make serious progress, enough he can strain against the restraints and stretch the incision. It hurts so much...so badly he wants to black out. The car door slams shut, and they're backing out before he can finish. "BETTY!" he screams. "FUCK!" The snap of the leather belt is the last thing he feels before he's left alone in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay you got Bughead! Woot woot! A moment in the wooooods~ I can totally see Kevin Keller auditioning for that musical and making Betty pretend to be the Baker's Wife while he spins her and pretends to woo her. The beginning of AGOOOONNYYY reminds me of Lucas vs Jughead's plights for Betty's affection. (why is she leaving? that doesn't make sense I/we are awesome of Prince Charming/Cinderella's Prince vs Rapunzel's Prince being like, "her crazy circumstances and general allure are HAUNTING me and it's driving BOTH OF US CRAZY"). Who'd have thunk? I don't even like Sondheim all that much.
> 
> Betty. My precious, overwhelmed snowflake. One day I will write you as just pure joy and happiness and flirting in the woods with a cute beanie-clad boy but that day is not today. This chapter was rewritten quite a few times just because with Betty, it's hard for her to come to terms that any feelings she has are beneficial to other human beings right now. She doesn't want to hook up with Jughead just because he makes her feel good or to hurt anybody else because she sucks at loving people (apparently). But he can handle nonsense without spiraling unlike SOME people she knows so that's a good sign. Maybe they'll run off and be homeless together someday. Who knows? Camping with Archie would've been hilarious as a new couple and third wheel. Arch would probs be uncomfortably squished in the corner while they spooned trying to figure out what the heck he missed the past few weeks.
> 
> Even though S3 isn't out yet so we don't know anything about the cult except they really like Simba-ing babies over fire, I figure it's a holistic healing sinner/savior thing so that's why Polly's super calm about potential doom nowadays. Plus she has a bit more backstory in this fic but we're probably not gonna explore it unless someone's super excited besides me lol. In the show, she took Hal being a killer SUPER well. I hope we get more Polly next season. And crazy/wonderful Bughead dream sequences.
> 
> Also. Yeah. Sorry. You got shot, Jug. In the arm, so...painful, but not lethal, right? That snake tattoo is gonna slither right off of him like, "I am not equipped to handle this!" Hope Archie brought some antibiotics or something. I was going to have the showdown as a separate chapter but I figured "Anything can happen in the woods" was a fair enough update to put it under. As we know from canon, Betty's no slouch when it comes to taking out people threatening people she loves. I still laugh when she knocks out Chic with a rolling pin. I mean, the Svenson shovel excitement was pretty good too, but DOUBLE TAP, GIRL. Now that Jug's not in immediate danger I think she's ready to have this fight for herself but we'll see.
> 
> Also I still feel bad for breaking Lucas. T-T What do you think? I mean, he lasted three whole days without going ballistic which I think is pretty impressive for him. What do you think he got from the Cooper house?
> 
> Y'all have been excellent commenters and as you know that helps me write faster so please say hello or comment your favorite passage or what have you ^-^ Kudos to you!


	7. Black Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas takes Betty on quite the road trip for a bunch of unexpected surprises in the attempts to reclaim their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor warning/spoiler: Lucas gets physical with Betty in some of their sections. It's pretty obvious when it's coming and I wrote it more so as him reclaiming/marking his territory. It's not written as rape, and it's certainly not very different from what he's done when they were together, but it is unsettling and I'd certainly hate for you to feel upset when you'd rather not be so just skip to the next section if it's not for you. Sorry in advance T-T

Lucas hauls Betty into the diver’s seat of the car, trying to push her over the threshold by whatever means necessary. Her knee smashes against the horn, a blaring beacon in the middle of the woods. White-hot panic flashes through him and Lucas lurches upon her to pin her to the seat, the stick shift digging into the arch of her back.

“You want me to punish you right here?” he hisses, the words hot against her face.

The fear in her eyes quickly fades from focus as he takes in everything else. Lucas stares at the rise and fall of her chest, relishes the feel of her thighs beneath him. The heat of her is intoxicating.

“I’m sorry,” she squirms, flinching from the jab of the stick shift, the bite of the handcuffs, and quite possibly the pressure of his growing erection against her thigh. Lucas takes a moment to breathe her in. This may not work. And then what? Is he supposed to get rid of her? Impossible. Her voice is broken, husky in a way that makes him want to draw a moan from her throat. “Not here. I don’t want…” Her eyes flicker to where the trailer trash was last seen. “ _Him_ to see.” Before he can demand her reason _why_ , she’s slowly backing in to the passenger’s side. “Only you should see me like that, Lucas.”

She’s right. Lucas flips her legs over the console and follows her in. The boy is screaming, but he can’t even really hear it. He backs up and out of the woods, into the night.

“Where are we going?” she asks, voice soft and choked with emotion. Her eyes glimmer on the road ahead in the dark of the car. Lucas wants to reach over and palm the side of her face, to smooth her dirty hair and wash everything else away but the two of them. She’s just as emotional at their reunion as he is.

“You’ll know soon enough, hon.”

They don’t often use endearments instead of names, but it seems the most logical form of address right now. _Betty_ still has a bitter edge to it. The girl who left him. Even if she _is_ the one who came back. _Honey (hon)_ is his blonde partner, the one who gets a sound kiss on the cheek and a hug from behind before they conquer whatever task is at hand for the day. And tonight the task ahead of them is large. But he'll take up the heavy burden, as he has the last few days. Because Betty needs him. And he needs Betty to be her best for what's ahead.

They drive into the black night without chatter, no music to drown out the triumphant whirring in his ears and the quiet labored breaths of the girl next to him. Eventually he finds what he’s looking for and parks the car. Betty looks pale, drained, and confused. “Stay here,” he orders her, aware of the way her eyes flicker to the gun, making him feel powerful and unsettled all at once. Lucas gets his drill out of the trunk and makes the necessary switch of license plates. When he re-enters the car, Betty studies him with narrowed eyes like he’s exceeded her expectations. He smiles and licks his lips, slamming the car door shut and resuming the drive into the night.

“So what happens now?” she asks, voice hollow, eyes dark and vacant as they reflect the blackness of the sky.

“We get what we deserve, Betty. You get your punishment. I get my reward. And then we live happily ever after.”

Her breath hitches in a little laugh. “Is that what this is?” The clink of her handcuffs jostles his attention from the road, her pale skin rubbed raw in little crescents like it’s his thumbs instead of the metal caressing her skin. Her palms carefully cusp her crusting blood so she doesn’t get it on his car seats.

His gut tightens, wanting so badly to pull her pain inside of him so he can feel it viscerally up close, taste what’s left of it before she falls into a satisfied reverie. “Isn’t this what you want?”

She twists her body until her head rests against the reflective glass to the side, her eyes half-lidded as she watches him in silence. The streetlights flare across her face, absorbed in the void of her cloudy eyes.

 

* * *

 

She’s hurtling towards the unknown, Jughead’s screams drowned out in the open road. Betty feels hollowed out and filled with the same determination that flows brazenly in her mother’s veins. The same quiet intensity that Lucas feels when he grips her throat and squeezes until her eyes flutter shut. The instinct to survive.

The lights of the night flash over Lucas in shades of purples and blues, coloring him like a character in a fantasy with pale glowing eyes.

_Isn’t this what you want?_

He’s calm now in the silence of her answer, by how natural it all feels. The constant pressure of pain keeps her focused, unemotional as he pulls off to the side of the road in a darkened almost-alley. Although he’s sharp, he’s also reckless right now, and it occurs to her he could kill her out here and nobody would find her for days. The white-knuckled grip he has on the wheel releases as his palm goes straight for her thigh. The squeeze makes her heart clench.

“Here?” she asks, trying not to let her throat clog up. The spatter of Jughead’s blood on the back of her arm feels like war paint smudged on the pristine leather interior.

“I need a taste before we can continue,” he breathes shakily, running a hand through his hair. "We don't have much time." Betty sits, rigid, until his hand smacks her leg a little more forcefully. "Betty?" Her quivering thighs shift over his lap until she’s straddling him, uncomfortably aware of the distinct difference in heat between the hardness of him and of the gun pressed against her. She pushes down the wave of nausea that settles over her when his breath ghosts over her skin

His reaches up to kiss her wetly. Her eyes close so she can concentrate on something else. There must be infinite ways to end this and she needs to find the right one. Attacking him while he’s driving puts too much risk for herself and others. The tips of her fingers caress the underside of the steering wheel as her lips move, wondering if she can somehow pry it open to destroy the ignition. But he knows she can hot-wire it. His tongue slips inside of her and she shivers, forcibly reminding herself to move her own as his fingers trail her skin in a familiar rhythm she can mindlessly fall into.

He rolls his hips up into her to get some relief and she jerks away, wondering if he can get the gun to go off on him in an embrace. But without her hands, with only the choppy use of her legs and knees, only her tongue and teeth can really get to the trigger. Unless maybe she reverse straddles him? Whatever she does, it’ll have to be when they stop for the night. Rolling out of the car just means that he’ll chase her or worse and it’s doubtful she’ll even get very far in the middle of nowhere. He has to take her handcuffs off eventually. Struck by the idea, she looks at him through her eyelashes and nuzzles his nose with hers, despite wanting to crash into it and roll off to escape.

“I want to touch you,” she murmurs, voice quivering, letting the tips of her nails slide down the inside of his knee. His breath chills her, his own nails digging into her back.

“You have no idea how badly I want that, Betty.”

“So uncuff me,” she offers, placing a pointed kiss on his mouth.

Without warning, he lifts up her shirt and bites the skin between her breasts. The pain is so intense and sudden that Betty gasps, jerking back until her elbows thwack against the steering wheel with a painful thud. She wants to use her hands, to push him away, to yank his hair until his mouth unlatches in a desperate gasp for air.

Instead she struggles against her raw feelings for a semblance of sanity while his arms pin her against him, against his viper’s bite, tongue laving the spot with all the affection of a python.

His eyes are blown black when he leans back to observe her reaction, lips reddened by what he’s taken from her. Betty wants watch him bleed, liquid dripping down to his chin, staining his lips with his own brand of pain. Struggling to hold onto herself, Betty starts panting, feeling the grind of him underneath her, and it’s all just blood rushing and she’s not sure if she can harness it. Her body betrays with a shiver of need he can feel through his clothes. Her eyes instinctively shut, blocking him out. He can’t see that in her. But it’s all he wants. He wants her to need him. Only him. Always.

 

* * *

 

Sirens blare as Jughead startles awake, the edges of his vision blurry and unfocused. His entire world rocks him into a nauseating headache. His arms throb, and with numb wonderment he looks down to make sure there isn’t a set of fangs attached to either one. Instead he finds his flannel shirt in tatters, an IV shoved into a bruise on one arm and a gauze bandage on the other.

“Juggie?” The masculine voice is wrong but familiar. A flash of orange hair and wide brown eyes move towards him.

“Where is she?” his voice is sluggish, his tongue a foreign entity in his mouth.

“She’s—” Archie looks to the side, like he’s not sure where else to go. “She’s coming. They’ll find her.”

Heaving against unconsciousness, Jughead tries to sit up. Archie’s hands and some others he doesn’t recognize press down on his chest. But she’s out there. He has to find her. “He has her, Arch. He has Betty.” Salty tears leak down the sides of his face and his arms hurt too much to wipe them away.

“It’s a miracle you were able to call 9-1-1, Jug. It’s okay. We’re here. We’re going to take care of your arm and then we’re going to go find her. The police are already looking for them.”

“No,” he wails, but in his current state it feels more like a moan. His head sinks back against the sweaty pillow as someone injects something into the jiggling bag of fluids over his head. “ _No._ ”

His words don’t mean anything, a garbled protest amidst the haze of a lurching journey back into unconsciousness. He keeps hearing the shot, the thud of her body pressed down against the car seats amidst the blare of a car horn. His throat, still raw, tries to call her name.

 

* * *

 

 

Lucas’s shirt feels stiff against her skin. The cloth of her sweater binds her, hooked to the same contraption she’s seem him hang his jackets to keep them wrinkle-free and straightened out. Every time the fabric rubs her raw skin she wants to scream, hiss into her arm to keep the pain at bay. It’s not helping her focus anymore. She’s so tired she feels sick, her cheek an unbearable but necessary pressure on her arms as she struggles against the urge to sleep.

“Should I call Kevin?” she asks quietly, letting the background blur.

His eyes flicker to the rear view mirror. “You will. In due time.”

She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes and stretches her neck instead. “So we’re not going home?”

A low chuckle curls one side of his mouth up in a smirk. His head shakes in amusement like he knows she’s prying for a hint as to their real destination.

“Are we…making a new home?” she asks dubiously. Lucas turns to her sharply, quirking an eyebrow at her like he suspects she’s cheated on a test. “Where? We’re sixteen.”

His mouth quirks in his enigmatic smile, and from the purple bruises starting to form under his eyes she wonders when he last got a good night’s sleep. If he’ll ever sleep again. The thought tightens in her stomach so she lets it sit there for a minute until it settles like cereal in an acid bath. Her eyes keep a lookout for a police car but there’s no one there.

“I need to use the bathroom,” she says quietly, hoping they’ll have to pull over.

Lucas rakes a dubious expression over her weary form. In the silence, she wonders if he’s going to make her just go out in the middle of the woods, perhaps the middle of the pavement somewhere just to humiliate her. But he hates messiness, and he’d hate to have that in the car with him for however long they have left.

“We’re almost there,” he finally says, eyes narrowing on the road ahead. From her angle, she can’t read the directions on his phone. Apparently he doesn’t trust her with the built-in navigation on his car right now. She still has a long way to go.

Her forehead presses dully against the glass window and she watches signs tempt them astray for burgers, booze, humans and all things Lucas would deem weak until she sees a sign welcoming them to a new state altogether. “Lucas?” she asks, a hollow panic blooming in her chest.

His hand smooths over her thigh. “Rest, sweetie.” Ice cold fear grips her chest and she closes her eyes.

* * *

When she relinquishes the tightly knit protection of her eyelids against the nightmares that might be reality, they’re in front of a nice hotel. The brown suited figure of Mr. Ward looks worn down, waiting for them outside. Her eyes widen in surprise, but before she can call out to him his eyes alight on her bindings. For some reason he looks resigned instead of upset and she realizes that he’s not here to help her. He’s not here to help anyone except himself. Except Lucas. Whether subconsciously or not, Mr. Ward moves his blazer to reveal his own firearm. He wipes his mouth from whatever spittle’s accumulated there and her heart pounds in fresh waves of anger. Lucas comes around to her side of the car, releasing her leaden arms and collecting her into his own.

The grown man who’s supposed to be a father avoids looking at her in the eyes. He is able to hold Lucas’s glares for a moment at a time with a well-worn practice.

“We doing this?” Mr. Ward asks hesitantly, voice grizzly as if he’s just woken up.

Lucas’s answer is only a sharp nod. “I am. Betty is.”

“Okay,” Mr. Ward sighs, eyeing them warily. “Let’s do this. We can go in the morning. You ready, Betty?”

Her tongue presses hard against the roof of her mouth. As if she’s supposed to know what _this_ is.

“It’s a surprise,” Lucas says crisply, not quite a warning as his fingers curl arounds her shoulders more tightly, inadvertently pressing remnants of Jughead’s blood into her skin. A surprise. Like showing up in the middle of the woods and shooting her best friend (and something more). A surprise. Like trying to burn down Jughead’s trailer. A _surprise_. The bruises on her shoulder feel like they go further than her bones. Mr. Ward nods, his chin tilted high in an _oh_.

She’s ushered without ceremony into the hotel, not even able to make eye contact with a customer service rep before she’s dragged into an elevator. Another prison. Another box to fill. Lucas’s hand presses firmly on her tailbone, just inside the seam of her pants like his fingers moving there can puppet her any direction he wants. She shifts, the mildest rebellion she can think of. The subtle bite of his nails into her skin follows immediately.

 

* * *

 

Needles baring through Jughead’s skin feels disconcertingly unreal. He attributes it to the numbing anesthesia pumping through his veins but really his mind is racing with a thousand roads that could’ve been traveled. Archie looks pale and nauseous, remaining distraught even once the bloodiness is tended and covered. The redhead sits with his elbows on his knees and fists clenched against his lips like he’s physically restraining himself from yelling obscenities or running away. His feet are certainly keeping a steady beat on the tile floor though.

“When can I leave?” Jughead asks, brow furrowed at the nurse who’s been sighing and avoiding the intensity of his questions ever since he’s come back around.

“Probably not for another few days. We don’t want you moving your arm too much and loosening those stitches.”

“I don’t _have_ days. I don’t even have money to pay for this surgery. How the hell am I supposed to save Betty when—“

“We’ll make him pay, Jug.” Archie nods discretely, brown eyes dark with determination. Pay for the surgery, pay for Betty. Damn straight he was going to pay.

The thought of revenge sparks a reminder of transportation, of leather and steel. “Where’s my bike?”

“Your dad rode up with some Serpents to find it.”

“My dad?”

When FP enters the room, it’s like the rest of the world gets swallowed in a sea of black. The sterile whiteness of the room contrasts the sweat and leather of his unshaven father, whose wild eyes focus only on his son. Jughead sits up against the cot and tries to understand where the fight is headed.

“That preppie did this to you?” FP asks, throat thick with tension, like the words are sacred to him.

Not sure if he should be ashamed or hold onto only his rage, Jughead unhinges his clenched jaw. “Yeah. And he’ll probably do worse to Betty.”

Being shot is probably similar to being loved by someone like Lucas. What's better? What's worse? He couldn't stop either of it, but it makes _him_ feel worse thinking about her. The rattle of handcuffs, the blaring of horns, the whimper of her breath as a monster slams her down, her feet scurrying to find purchase on the leather interior of the seats. All of it sounds worse than the gunshot popping through the air. And the longer it takes to find them, the harder it will be to make their suffering end.

FP nods once, lips thinning in anger, and gestures for him to get up.

“Um, sir. He can’t leave. He’s just had surgery,” the nurse reminds them, eyebrows raised like it’s not obvious.

For once Jughead is grateful for his father’s sharp glares. “We need to find his girlfriend, _nurse_. And the guy who _shot my son._ I’m his father, I’m saying it’s okay for him to go, and we’re going. We’ll be back when we find her.”

“But—”

“Get your clothes, kid. We’re going for a ride.”

 

* * *

 

Lucas lets his fingers trail up the smooth silk of the dress warmed by her skin. The zipper clicks perfectly into place, and he kisses the spot on her shoulder just under her hair. She smells like soap, the uncleanliness of yesterday safely washed away in the drain. Her hair feels soft in his palm as he gathers it to test which style looks the best with this pale gray dress he’d been able to procure from a nearby boutique. To see it on her now, every curve filling it just like he knew it would, fills him with a satisfied reverie. He's never bought her clothes before. It gives him a new sense of peace. His lips linger on her collar, inciting a shiver.

“Is this the surprise?” she asks, trying to meet his gaze in the mirror.

Betty’s always beautiful, but the harshness of the neon light in the bathroom accentuates how worn ragged she’s been by their time apart. The sleeping aid he’d given her last night had helped, but the effects left her a little groggy this morning. Still, it had been worth it to breathe her in last night, to fall asleep in her warmth unheeded by the nightmare of struggling apart for three days.

“Does it seem like it?” he asks, deciding he likes her hair half up half down. Maybe he can get flowers from the lobby. One for his lapel. Some for her hair. Flowers are wasteful things but they are traditional. Maybe it’s something that’ll enhance the aesthetic, the smell, or her smile, which is conspicuously absent in her weariness.

“I don’t know. You’ve been surprising me a lot lately.” His eyes flash to meet hers in the mirror, but she’s already looking down, smoothing her dress with the demure tenacity of a lady. He lets his fingers graze all the way down both of her arms, down to the lace gloves and bracelets his father had usefully provided to hide some of the marks of her punishment. As he snaps the bracelets in place, a relieved sigh works its way through his throat. Perfect. It’s lucky he knows her grooming habits, her makeup, and that the essentials were already packed away. Their reflection practically shimmers back at him, so pristine and focused that it eclipses everything else.

“Lucas, everything all right in there?” Lucas snaps the bathroom door aside to receive his father, who’s looking sober but solemn. “Can I talk to you about this, son?” Betty stiffens in the bathroom, eyes darting to the side. Heartbeat in his throat, Lucas closes the door to keep her in there for now, away from anything revealing the surprise, if she hasn’t guessed it already.

“Fine.” On instinct, he takes the entire landline phone outside with him, letting the white cord spiral noisily to the floor while he exits to the hall.

At least Charlie Ward didn’t wear that hideous brown suit for the most important days of their lives thus far. But he’s wasting time, time better spent tending to Betty for their perfect day. “What do you want?”

“Are you sure you thought this through, son?” A prick of anger clenches his jaw, forcing him to tilt his head and decide whether to leave right now or endure this idiocy. His father’s brows knit together in consternation, glancing down the hall as if someone would be listening. “I mean, if she doesn’t want to do this, it’s the rest of your life. It’s the rest of her life. You don’t want to do that to somebody…especially somebody you love.” His father’s hand attempts to set on his shoulder, but Lucas feels nothing but the weight of a weak man who couldn’t keep his own wife happy enough to stick around. The face in front of his firms up, business again. “Plus, you’ve got to think about you. You could be fighting this the rest of your life. We could spend a lot of time in court besides today.”

“I’ve _thought_ about it,” he says tersely, feeling the words snap in his throat. “This is all according to plan. Just a littler earlier than anticipated.” Lucas straightens his dark gray suit jacket and tries to relax into his professionalism.

“And what if she says no?”

His father disgusts him. It’s a wonder they’re even related. “She won’t.”

The sharp click of the door behind him sets his anger down in place, taking a deep breath before finding Betty wiping her covered palms on her skirt. Beautiful. Elegant. But nervous.

He tosses the phone on the desk, nowhere near the connection wires. He doesn’t want to be interrupted.

“There’s one last piece before your ensemble is complete,” he says, voice quavering just the tiniest bit. “Before _we’re_ complete.” Her nails pick at the lace gloves, eyes large and hesitant. His father’s invasiveness probably did that to her. But no one should ever make her nervous again, because he’s going to take care of her. They’ll take care of each other. Lucas takes her hand and sits down on the bed with her, trying to look into her eyes. The rings of dark emerald stare into him with an intense rapture, and he knows he has her full attention.

“I know we’ve only recently reconciled, but…I think it’s time we started keeping our promises, don’t you?” he asks, the lightness in his voice contrasting the seriousness in his eyes. Lucas removes her promise ring from his pocket. When she catches sight of it, she holds her breath like it’s a ghost, something she’d lost forever. A wry smirk twists on his face before he can suppress it. Her fingers start trembling uncontrollably as he takes her hand in his, readying the reunification. His gaze traces her face cautiously, ready wipe out any other hesitation. “Do you promise me, Betty? Will you be mine forever?” His grip tightens, gaze fierce with intensity of _knowing, once and for all_. “Will you marry me?”

“Lucas, I…” Her fingers twitch in his, Lucas tracing them, willing her to look back at him instead of the ring. Her green eyes are dark and wet with emotion. “Y—yes,” she breathes, nodding her delicate chin with that one little beauty mark in the perfect spot. A single tear slips down her cheek, perfect contrast to her pale skin. Her lips quirk in a flash, not quite a smile. Disbelief still shatters her expression. He's saved it for her A sharp gasp escapes her on contact with the metal, like it’s branded onto her skin.

He sighs in satisfied relief, clasping her ringed hand and caressing her cheek. The promise ring she’d given him has never left its place, and he wants her to feel it pressed against her skin. Content, he leans into a quiet, collected kiss in the privacy of their hotel room. They start to shift, and his hands move firmly to embrace her. Things are falling back into place as smoothly as the silk bunched in his hands, just as he’s planned.

 

* * *

 

 

Her body moves like the music of an amateur harpist, trying to remain fluid while strung far too tight for anything beautiful. The ring on her finger feels like barbed wire on her skin and she can’t help but twist it every so often, yearning to rip it off. Lucas’s hand gently pushes her forward from her tailbone, constantly hovering to make sure she doesn’t step out of line. She catches sight of dark curly hair and thinks of Jughead, her heart ricocheting up into her throat. Archie would’ve gotten to him, she has to remind herself. He’s probably doing well right now. In the hospital. Logic. Logic is her friend. Someone will find the notes she hid for housekeeping. That someone will not be Lucas. The police will get a team to disarm him and his father. No one else will get hurt.

A sharp-dressed bronzed man wearing gold rings leans into his wife’s ear, then motions to a man in the peripheral. The gesture feels powerful. Betty craves it, craves her subtle gestures to influence and change the situation. To be able to do more than submit to save the people she loves.

A brunette her age with silky hair and perfectly winged liner blows a kiss to the beautiful couple with the gold rings. Her fingers absently pick at the string of pearls around her neck while she studies her phone, walking forward to snag a pear from the breakfast table.

“I’m going to grab a piece of fruit,” Betty whispers, her mouth purposely gentle against Lucas’s cheek. “I’m feeling a little unsettled from the medicine last night.”

“Okay,” he agrees warily, glancing at the unattended table. “You can take one piece to go. Just don’t mess up your lipstick.” It takes her a second to register he’s not joking. Slipping away from the constant presence of his touch already helps her move lighter, if still mechanically. Mr. Ward pulls Lucas aside to talk in low whispers by the bagel station, and Betty takes the opportunity to hurry behind the brunette with the pear.

“Pretend you know me. _Please_ ,” she whispers desperately from behind her in line.

The girl’s thick eyebrows arch in surprise, but she lets a burgundy smile overtake her dubious expression. “Oh my god! How _are_ you?” The brunette’s arms wrap tightly around her, squeezing her close in the musk of perfume and the camaraderie of a girl who knows what it’s like to cause a distraction. “Veronica,” she murmurs in Betty’s ear. “You trying to get away from your parents?”

It strikes her as odd that’s the first thing the girl jumps to, but she subtly shakes her head. At least she knows unwanted attention is on the horizon. “Boyfr—My name is Betty Cooper.” She can’t believe she almost called Lucas her _boyfriend_. Like that’s what he is anymore. She can’t even say _crazy fucking ex_ because if Veronica mentions it to the boy standing just ten feet away she’ll probably answer for it with her life. The girl seems to catch the word choice and tilts her head in surprise when Lucas pulls Betty’s shoulder until she's wrenched back into his arms.

“Who’s this?” His throat bobs with anticipation, charmingly polite smile flashing with just the hint of a threat.

“Veronica. From my publishing internship in New York last summer,” she says pointedly, fingers twisting the ring over her knuckle and back again. “Veronica, this is _Lucas Ward_ , my boyfriend, from _Riverdale_.” God she hopes this girl is as smart as she looks.

“Fiancé,” he corrects, squinting at Betty like she’s _off_ somehow. Oh god, _fiancé_ , she realizes. He actually wants to _marry_ her. Is that…is that the _surprise_?

Veronica gives him a prim, almost shit-eating smile. “Lucas Ward, was it? How nice. Are you taking good care of my Bettykins?”

“Of course. The best,” he chuckles quietly, the sound grating. His fingers absently dig sharper into her shoulder and Betty winces. Veronica’s dark eyes flash in concern. Focusing on breathing, she fixes Veronica with forced bright smile.

The brunette maintains her easy confidence, waving a hand. “Well, would you be so kind as to let us girls catch up over breakfast? Sort of a mini bachelorette party,” she teases, wrinkling her smile in a way Betty finds impressively coercive.

Lucas sucks in and holds some air, smile frozen on his face. “No, I’m afraid we’re quite busy today.”

“Too busy for _brunch_?” Veronica asks, face scrunching incredulously.

“Yes. We’re actually getting married. Betty?”

The announcement is so off-handed that for a moment Betty doesn’t think she heard him right. Rational thought freezes in her brain, and she feels like her head is full of sand swirling rapidly to make room for it again. He snags an apple as the chosen piece of fruit for her breakfast and leads her away by the shoulder.

“B—Betty?!” Veronica sputters, stepping after them. “Um, where do I send the flowers of congratulations?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lucas says offhandedly, continuing to move her forward and through the door.

Just before the doors close, she whips her head around and mouths, _he has a gun,_ while gesturing with her fingers. The brunette’s eyes widen in shock just as the doors shut on everything else.

“What was that?” Lucas asks sharply, only aware of movement on her other side.

“I was telling her to call me,” she covers nervously. “I—I didn’t want her to think I was being rude.” Her footing falters as they start to leave the lobby, wanting to grab onto the desk and latch onto it. “I didn’t realize…I don’t have a phone anymore. Do you think I’ll…get it back? Like, do you think…he was able to use it?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Lucas shrugs, tugging her more forcefully towards the car park. “I’ll be taking care of you from now on. We’ll be taking care of each other.”

The mantra haunts her like a heartbeat as he pushes her into the back of a black car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being in Lucas's head during this time has been 1000% exhausting so I'm sorry for the slower updates. I just sit there shaking my head at him and he glares back like, "WHAT?" and I'm like, "Betty, would you like to say anything?" and she's like, "You're insane and I'd rather like to live" and I would know bc I'm the crazy person having make-believe dialogues with fictional characters in my head. Sigh. The next chapter is coming along nicely and YES Lucas will pay for his crimes in fun and exciting ways but I know you've all been so patient so I wanted to release at least something for you this weekend. If you have thoughts I'd love to hear them and thank you so much for the motivation and insights so far (even just the tiny hello kinda comments). How about those Lodges, huh? ALSO please if anyone is ever stalking you do not hesitate to pull a Betty and be like, "PRETEND TO KNOW ME" bc the stalker may back off once they think you have backup. Obv not Lucas bc he's "the best" but you know what I'm saying. FP and the Serpents may be in the house. PS mini spoiler for next chapter since not everyone's perspectives are in this, Fred is currently trying to sort out stuff with the Coopers once Archie called him, FP has the Serpents on high alert, and Archie is going with. Also, no, Jughead is not going to ride on a motorcycle with a freshly-stitched arm exposed to the constant pressure of the elements, but Vermont is still a ways away and technically they don't know where she is yet soooo any guesses how it's gonna go down? I'll update ASAP and thanks for your support!


	8. Hold Your Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going to the courthouse and he's~~~tryin' to get marrriiiiiiiied~

The air conditioner in the car blows a few loose strays of hair away from Betty’s face, creating a nice breeze effect while she frowns into the distance. Lucas loves this angle of her. Thinking. Working something out in that pretty little head of hers. Probably planning their entire lives together, crafting the vision that’s been imprinted in his brain for months now. “I…we can’t get married today, right? We’re sixteen,” she reasons carefully, glancing at Mr. Ward for his opinion as a professional lawyer but ultimately turning to Lucas for the answer.

Lucas smiles, research engraved carefully stowed in his brain for a rainy day. “In Vermont, we can get married at 16 with proper identification and consent of parental guardians.”

Her gaze flickers to Mr. Ward, then settles hesitatingly back on Lucas. Her fingers pick at the lace gloves over her palms, and he worries that she’ll stain them before the ceremony. “But…I only have my driver’s license…and my parents…”

Lucas slaps the side of his smooth leather messenger bag. “All taken care of.” At her bewildered stare, he almost rolls his eyes. “Before our road trip, I stopped by your parents’ house. They were kind enough to provide me with your birth certificate, social security number, et cetera. And their blessing, of course. I know it’s old-fashioned, but I thought it appropriate considering the circumstances.” He tilts his head, smiling at her warmly. Rubbing her skin in small circles doesn’t seem to move the stunned expression off her face.

“My parents?” she repeats with a frown. Lucas absently spins the promise ring on her finger, loving the way it stays in place. “They just…gave you my personal information and said it was fine to elope?”

“You know expensive weddings can be,” he shrugs, shaking his head. The streets are busy, and the noise distracts him. “I had my father apply for the marriage license in advance.”

“And my parents didn’t want to be there?” she shifts, facing him angrily. “What about Polly? Am I supposed to just go to a courthouse with pieces of paper and a fiancé and hand my last name over?”

“What’s the problem?” he asks, irritated. She looks beautiful, a gorgeous bride even without the ostentatiousness of a multi-layered gown. “If you want a ceremony and reception when we get older, we’ll just renew our vows.”

“That’s not the point, Lucas.” Her voice is edged in sharpness, brow furrowed as the emerald in her eyes refocuses on him. “I mean, you proposed _today_. You can’t just whisk me off to the nearest—are we going to a court house?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he snaps, clutching the messenger back close to him.

She blinks, as if coming to. “I’m…” Heaving a big sigh, she crosses her arms and leans back against the seat.

“ _What?_ ” Her petulance is grating on him, and it doesn’t do for someone who looks so grown-up to pose so childishly in the back of the car. Glaring from the road to his bride, Lucas straightens his shoulders. “What are you upset about? You said you wanted to get married.”

Her hands come out to gesture in the air. “Yes, I want to get married, Lucas, but I want to get married when I’m not fighting with my family and my friends aren’t wounded by the groom.”

Scoffing, he rolls his head near the window. “Our wedding day should be about you and me, Betty.” Her chin turns towards him just enough to shoot him a glare. “Besides, don’t you want to take all that ugliness and turn it into something special? Your parents don’t appreciate you, and your friends tried to intercept our relationship. This is in our best interests. And now we’re here.” He lets his thumb trace over the lace of her gloves, voice low so his father can’t hear. “Don’t spoil this wonderful surprise.”

Her gaze hovers on their hands just long enough to swallow back her anger before she looks forward, straight posture once again. “I just…I thought I’d be able to plan for this, Lucas. I wanted it to be perfect. I don’t even have vows. We were supposed to take care of each other.” Upset, but no longer angry, she swipes a few stray tears from the cheek furthest from him. The tenderness in the gesture softens him, and he loosens the seat belt to move closer to her. His father’s gaze flickers on them through the rear view mirror. Lucas flashes him a warning glare before enveloping the girl he loves in the gray blanket of his arms. 

“Don’t worry about the wedding. It’s just some social construct inspired by paganism. I want you to focus on our marriage.” Round eyes look up into his with just a sliver of apprehension. Smiling, he pulls her closer. “Trust me. I promise. It’s all going to be okay.” She shivers amidst his embrace and nods, shifting her gaze to the seat belt of the seat in front of them. He presses a few sweet kisses to her cheek and neck. His finger curls around a stray hair and tucks it surreptitiously behind her ear. Despite how much he admired the family portrait in the Coopers’ living room, the best picture in the house was of him and her at the dance. They were each other’s perfect family. Everyone else was just filler in the empty frames she’d given him what feels like ages ago. The only ones he kept, the only ones he cared about were the two of them captured perfectly in frame. Following an instinct he rarely indulged, Lucas brought out his phone. If there was any time to make a memory, it might as well be this one.

 

* * *

 

The car nearly swerves out of the lane as Archie’s phone starts blaring Van Halen. “Answer it! Answer it!” he panics, as if Jughead isn’t already fumbling it open to swipe on speaker phone. Both of the boys shout at it as soon as the icon indicates the call has connected.

“Oh good, I can just call one of you,” Kevin sighs. “I’ve been helping out at the station while my dad’s on the case and some girl from Vermont just called in a tip. Apparently Lucas and—“

“Vermont?” Jughead asks, wondering why he went _there_ of all places.

Archie frowns and starts messing with the ancient GPS plugged into the dash.

“ _Yes_ ,” Kevin hisses, and Jughead can practically _feel_ the exasperation over the phone. “Our girl ran up to the tipster at the Fortune Tower’s breakfast, told her she was from Riverdale and that her _boyfriend,_ ” the air quotes are obvious, “had a gun and she needed help. Some guy, probably his dad, must’ve checked them in. Lucas was taking her to get married.”

Jughead’s eyes widen as they meet Archie’s. It's like his entire body is made of lead. “What?” they ask in unison.

“She’s sixteen!” Archie sputters, incredulous. “What the hell is he thinking? That’s illegal. That has to be illegal, right Jug?”

“So far he’s assaulted at least two people with a deadly weapon so I’m not sure _illegal_ is going to sway him, Arch,” Jughead sighs, feeling sick and exhausted. His fists work their way into the hair under his cap. It’s been an insane 48 hours.

Resigned, Kevin’s voice drifts over the speaker. “At least she’s not buried in some bunker somewhere. He _is_ planning to marry her.”

The car shoots forward a little faster, Archie’s shoulders tensing at the wheel. “And take her life away!”

“The microphone works better when you’re not shouting at it,” Kevin protests lightly. “All I’m saying is, I don’t think he intends on hurting her as long as she’s doing what he says. It's insane, but that’s comforting in _some_ way, isn’t it?”

The thought of Lucas pinning Betty against the seats threatens disrupting Jughead’s semblance of self-control, and the little GPS they’ve adjusted says it’ll take at least two hours for them to get there. He kicks the dashboard and leaves his foot up there, bracing himself as he tries texting his dad.

There’ve been enough shotgun weddings in the south side for Jughead to know that marriages take more than a day to get arranged, even for a sociopath with a lawyer father. Jughead tries to swell the panic in his chest by breathing deeply. “He can’t just marry her. They need proper documentation. Parental approval. Betty’s not emancipated, and there’s no way in hell Alice or Hal would just sign her over, even if they are taken in by the straight-laced facade.”

“Great. Let’s add forgery to the list of offenses.” Kevin’s commentary is a little more sour than usual, and Jughead’s not sure if it’s because he’s exhausted, worried, or offended that he originally trusted Lucas and it came back to punch him in the face. “Just to make things _worse,_ if that evil little genius is in Vermont, technically my dad has no jurisdiction. We need them back here in order to press charges, unless Fred can somehow convince the Coopers to file for kidnapping.”

Jughead tears into a foil food package he grabs from the camping stash in Archie’s truck. “I bet they’d file for kidnapping in a heartbeat if they thought I’d taken her.” Jughead gnaws on a crunchy, disgusting, cranberry granola bar. He needs to eat something, rip it apart before he goes crazy.

Archie frowns at the GPS, increasing the speed of the car. “We can get to that hotel in a few hours, I mean, even the courthouse if necessary. We can interrupt them right when they ask to speak now or forever hold your peace or…cancel it, right? Yeah. Even if she gets married—“ Jughead’s fist slams against the glove compartment. It’s his good arm, so Archie flinches but doesn’t yell. Imagining Betty bruised and bloody in a white dress while Lucas smiles like a psycho is enough to make his stitches start leaking with the increased blood pressure. “We can get it annulled! Jug! Stay with me, buddy. I need you. We need to tell your dad and the Serpents—“

“I didn’t hear that,” Kevin deadpans.

“…Where she is so we have all the help we can get to nab Lucas,” Archie finishes. “We all in on the plan?”

The phone pings back a text from his dad, just a skull and crossbones emoji. His thumb trembles over his own response, his other hand caressing Betty’s abandoned phone that’s off and lifeless in his pocket. “Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

The security guards miss Betty’s pleading glances. So she keeps her chin high, never missing a step with Lucas’s hand at her hip. When she spots the metal detectors, a mixture of hope and panic rustles through her. Lucas doesn’t look worried, and neither does Mr. Ward, which means they probably left the guns in the car.

She’s safe.

Everyone is safe for just a few wonderful seconds of her life and she breathes deeply. They make it through the metal detectors and ride up to the eighth floor where his father starts talking to an attendant. Lucas must be able to sense her ease, because he enjoys it, the quiet, as she looks out the window and studies the city sprawling beneath her. The sunlight highlights the blonde of his eyelashes, and she tries to reconcile this calm, content person beside herwith the boy who bit and bled her in the night.

“We should call Kevin,” she says quietly, purposely tilting her head so she looks demure, contemplative.

“Why?” His fingers dig into the silk at her hip.

In her most careful, Alice-approved voice, she reasons, “He’ll want to know we found happiness. He was always rooting for us, you know. It might even get him to drop the charges.”

“No,” he says sharply, eyes hard steel instead of the molten softness in the sunlight. “After. Even if he does press charges, they can’t get us in Vermont.” Although he’s stern, his mouth quirks up like he’s amused at her naïveté. “Right now we’re on the waiting list for an appointment, but I assure you at least one of the couples ahead of us will not be saying their vows today.”

“Don’t—don’t interrupt anyone on our account.” The shrug accompanying it is meant to balance the swell of panic in her throat. He’s hurt enough people for one lifetime.

His fingers twist one of his jacket buttons into place. “I’ll be careful.”

She nods, cautiously studying his face. “And then what? Honeymoon back at the hotel?”

“If you’d like,” he grins, the metallic sheen in his eyes glistening at her. The fingers at her hip massage a little deeper, feeling for the line of her underwear. It makes her want to scream, but instead she braces her hand on his chest.

“Then where are we off to? Another country? Another state? Or stick around here for a while?”

“I was thinking we could use a little vacation. Vermont has nice schools. We may be a little too close to your family for comfort, but…we’re also not terribly far from Harvard,” he gleans, kissing her hairline, their perfect little future reflected in his face. This makes him happy. But it’s still not enough. It will never be enough. She won’t have friends, the only sweets she’ll get to eat are the ones he wants to lick off her body, and she’ll have bruises for wanting anything else other than _this_.

“Sounds great,” she chokes, hoping the tears in her eyes can be passed off for excitement. He chuckles to himself and gives her a hug.

“Would you like to sit down?” For a second she forgets herself, quirking an eyebrow in surprise. He’s asking her, not demanding it. Maybe she’s proved herself enough to get a little wiggle room.

“No, I’m just going to stand here and enjoy the view for a few more minutes. I want to imagine all the places you could take me.” Her eyes crinkle to match a fake smile.

Pleased, he nods and places a lingering kiss on her lips. A _goodbye for now_ when she wants _goodbye forever_. “You pick out our next spot babe. And don’t talk to anyone.”

She places a finger to her lips, her pulse pounding against it like a secret.

 

 

The numbness in her heels tingles throughout the rest of her body, every part of her rigid and ready to go when a sharply dressed woman comes out and starts giving updates for them all to hear. Ever a stickler for rules, Lucas’s attention is rapt on the woman, his jaw tightening as he tries to ignore the neutral ping of an elevator emptying onto the floor. He’s still trying to figure out which couples to sabotage, but most of them are with family and haven’t left the lobby where he can get them alone. However with enough time and ingenuity Betty’s certain he will strike.

Betty slides behind the group crowding the elevator, entering at the last second along with a tall man who smells like sharp cologne. As the doors slip shut, she breathes a sigh of relief that quickly turns into trembling. She’d been sure he would’ve seen her. His pale eyes sharpening in intensity, knees unlocking as he stands to meet her challenge. Not that she could bring herself to look. If he catches her _now_ …

_But he won’t_ , she assures herself, raising her chin. The tall man looks over his shoulder at her but she avoids his gaze. What is she supposed to do? Shout in a crowded elevator, _I’ve been kidnapped!_ Sink to her knees, begging for help? They’d have _her_ locked up, forced back into the arms of the person who’ll tear her apart. Not today, she reassures herself. The elevator stops twice, Betty’s heart lodging in her throat both times. He’s going to notice she’s missing soon. And then the hunt will begin.

She hides behind the tall man until she catches the first wave of security guards. “You have to help me,” she stage-whispers, still trembling from relief. The tall man stiffens but continues moving as she talks to the security guard.

A rather stocky middle-aged woman reaches a hand out for her arm. “Oh, sweetie. It’s okay. What’s going on?”

“They’re—they’re trying to force me to get married. Lucas, my ex, he kidnapped me—“

“You pregnant?” the security guard asks, eyebrow raised, looking at her stomach as if that would explain everything.

“N—no,” she shakes her head, hair shuffling against the bareness of her back. “He’s _insane_. He shot my boyfriend. He has a gun, he forced me to…this dress—“ she sputters, gesturing to just… _everything_.

“He did what?! Where is he now?” the security guard asks, peering over her shoulder. “He hasn’t got a gun in here, has he?”

Betty clamps her palms over her shoulders, suddenly freezing cold. “I think it’s in the car, but I don’t know.”

“Betty? There you are,” she hears across the hall. Mr. Ward looks panicked, moving quickly through the crowd.

“That your boyfriend?” the security guard asks dubiously.

Exasperated, she glares at them. “ _No_. That’s his father.”

His hand goes towards his inside coat pocket and fear rockets up in Betty’s chest. Before he can take another step, she stumbles back and towards the exit.

“Betty! _Shit!_ ” The sound of loafers clacking on tile is all she can hear as she hurtles forward, flinging herself through the doors outside. For all her studying at the window on the eighth floor, Betty’s running blind, tunnel vision and adrenaline the only things keeping her from breaking her ankle on the unforgiving cement. Silk swirls around her thighs, the synthetic rubbing noise emphasizing each step.

The crosswalk traffic determines her path, weaving around people as best as she can. When she spirals around a corner, she tries to disappear, slamming into a building and looking for a weapon, a phone, a person, an _anything_. Of course the doors inside are locked. Mr. Ward catches sight of her through the door window and follows her in. _No_ , she mutters, quickly making her way for the back entrance.

“Betty, you better stop right there!” he shouts, “Before we do something we both regret.” And that’s when she catches sight of something plastic in the shape of a gun. It looks more effective than a toy, however, especially if Lucas was involved in making it. “His science project, 9th grade,” Mr. Ward offers by explanation, slowly moving forward.

Heart pounding, she continues backing towards the exit, confidence her greatest weapon. “You know he'd kill you if anything happened to me.”

Mr. Ward’s eyes crinkle in something like dry amusement. “You know he'd kill more than just me, right?” Swallowing, she keeps her eyes wide, feet moving slowly. She’d call his bluff and sprint if it didn’t mean potentially falling over in her wedge heels. Mr. Ward pants, trying to catch his breath. “I know this is a lot, but Lucas really likes you. I think he’ll do what it takes to make you happy. You know, as long as it fits…”

“What _he_ wants,” she finishes, eyes narrowing.

Smiling sadly, Mr. Ward nods. “You really mean a lot to him, kid. He’s better with you. And hell, maybe you’re better with him too. At least for a while. The kid never showed a human emotion except for pride and anger before you came around, gave him an idea of how a life with someone else could work long-term. You're his only hope, Betty.”

Tears prick her eyes, breath escaping in angry huffs. “I can't live like this, and he _shouldn’t_ be. Like we and Harvard are all that matter and everything else is nothing. Family? Friends? _Me_? What happens when Harvard doesn’t live up to his expectations? He blows it up? He carves up a new quad?”

“He...he hurt you, I gather?” Mr. Ward has the decency to look bashful, but covers it with a wave of his hand. “He’s always been a bit on the wild side of self-control. Never hit me, but he sure came close.” A dark, throaty chuckle accompanies his arm raise to wipe the sweat glistening on his forehead. “I just can't do it on my own anymore. I can't keep covering for his ambition, his needs.”

“So don’t,” she pleads angrily.

His mouth quirks in a frown, brow furrowing deep on his forehead, but at least he stops moving forward. “It’s not that easy. You think he's going to stop if we just pack up and get out of town? You're _my_ only hope too, Betty.”

Something vibrates in her chest, thinking of Lucas in another town, another school. “Does he…does he always do this? I thought you said that I…changed him.” In her heart, Betty’s always assumed that somehow their relationship had just triggered something deep and dark and hungry in both of them.

Practically heaving on air, he nods. ”You did. Girl, you are definitely the first person he's made room for in his master plan. Probably his first kiss, definitely his first girlfriend. But that doesn't mean he hasn't done stuff to take people out of the way in the past. Kind of like that Reggie kid. There are dozens of them, Betty. Dozens of teachers and kids and everyone that he's barreled out of the way to get what he deemed acceptable success. What do you think he'd do to get to you?” He lets the silence speak for them, her mind swirling with the town set on fire and Jughead’s blood spattering on her skin. It feels like Lucas’s hands are wrapping around her throat as it closes in the effort not to cry. “He’d raze your entire town, poison the water supply. We both know that I'm right.” Mr. Ward’s eyes darken, like he’s seen what his son is capable of and doesn’t know where it ends.

“So, what?” Her eyes dart to the side, aware of the way the gun is angled at the door, the shadows of other people, people who could get hurt just outside of the building. “I'm just supposed to let him blackmail me the rest of my life? Like he’s done to you?”

Pleading, Mr. Ward moves forward. “No, just come with me. We'll figure something out. I've dealt with him for years and he doesn't even like me. I can teach you all the tricks. We can do this together.” Her breathing intensifies along with her heart rate. “We can…we can tell him you got a run in your hose and went across the street to try and get a replacement pair to look your best. Or maybe you saw someone you used to know and had to hide? Or maybe—“

“STOP IT! I shouldn’t have to lie for the rest of my life! And neither should you. If he’s done what you’ve said—if he’s hurt so many people, why haven’t you stopped him?”

“Because I can’t. Because he’s my son,” Mr. Ward shrugs, defeat combined with emotion, and she’s not sure whether it’s because he has no power or simply doesn’t have the strength to take it.

Swiveling with firm determination, Betty pushes out the door, taking off on her own when an actual gunshot goes off behind her. A guttural shout grips her heart in fear and she turns. To her shock, it’s the tall man from the elevator, his arms wrapped around Mr. Ward and already wrangling the plastic gun out of his grip. After a few quick jerky contortions Mr. Ward is flung onto the ground, the stranger’s knee on his back. Betty stares, wide-eyed. The stranger looks up.

“Condolences from Miss Veronica Lodge.”

 

* * *

 

Lucas’s chest feels like it’s filling with foamy anxiety slopping out over the edges and he has to keep tempering it to keep from going insane. She’s not there. She’s not where he left her, her beautiful profile practically cementing her as a statue of perfection in the waiting room. His father’s cryptic message of _I’m with her_ is not enough. His finger angrily jams against the screen again, and when it goes to voicemail it takes everything in him not to crush the contraption between his hands.

It’s a lifeline, he has to remind himself. A connection to her, to _it, their lives_. Breathing deeply, Lucas chances a glare at the couple waiting quietly for their appointment. He could destroy them, take their spot in wedded bliss with his girl, but _she’s not here_ so what the hell is the point?

A security guard shifts uncomfortably in position, and Lucas moves forward with what he hopes is a tight but friendly expression. “Excuse me, have you seen a beautiful girl in a light gray dress? My father should be with her, man in a dark suit.”

The security guard raises an eyebrow, like there’s a million of people like that every day. There’s only one girl as beautiful as Betty. As smart. As perfect. “You her boyfriend?” he asks.

“Fiancé.” His smile tightens, skin feeling tight and rubbery around his teeth.

The security guard’s eyebrows stay raised on their forehead. “Mm. Give me a minute.” He turns away to mutter into some kind of communication device, and Lucas impatiently lets his gaze filter down the hall. The whole thing isn’t right. Why wouldn’t they take him with them? Unless Betty was taken, and his father went after her. Or she was doing something bad. Lucas’s father was a smarmy waste of a human being most of the time, but he knew better than to touch Lucas’s personal effects, his _person_. The security guard turns back to him with a stoic expression. “How about we go down to the lobby for a few questions?”

Lucas’s teeth flash at the officer in front of him. “I have to wait here. For her. For them. I can’t just _leave_ her.” Something hysterical flushes inside of him. _Not like she left me._

“That’s all right, I’ve got someone keeping an eye for them up here. There’s someone downstairs who thinks she might’ve seen them. You have a picture of her?”

“Yes.” Lucas grits his teeth and follows the security guard to the main lobby, aware of the minutes ticking away, the people moving around him, a dusky perfume used too heavily and early in the day lingering in the elevator. A stocky security officer draws herself tall, lips set in a firm line. Lucas shows her the picture of Betty, the one of her silhouette against the window, against the city, one she wasn’t even aware he’d taken. Then he swipes to the two of them together, just to show, to prove, that they’re _happy_. They’re _together_.

The short one nods, tongue clicking the roof of her mouth. “I see. Yeah. She came through here.”

“Where is she?” His voice comes out snappier than intended.

“I think it’s best we talk in private.” The security guard motions for backup.

Setting his shoulders back a little more firmly, Lucas nods. “I’d like that.” He’s been through enough of these to know how to put on the act. In a hard wooden chair in a back room, he lets his voice quiver, breaking, when they ask him what happened to his girlfriend. _Fiancé_ , he wants to correct them. “If she’d changed her mind, I wish she would’ve told me,” he forces his voice in a whimper, wiping moisture from his face. “I mean, I know she’s been emotional lately, what with the falling out with her family, but—“

“She says you shot her boyfriend.” The security guard raises an eyebrow. Lucas forgets to look sad when everything in him reels and coils.

“ _Boyfriend_?”

“Yes. Do you recall any incident of that kind?”

Taking a shaky breath, he shakes his head and smooths the fabric of his pants down towards his knees. The world around him starts breaking into squiggly, static lines. “No. There was a friend who tried stop us from being together. But she left willingly.”

“And what happened to that friend?” The guard’s voice is careful.

“Nothing. He cried. He screamed. But Betty picked me.” There’s nothing else he wants to say on the matter. It’s taking most of his effort to respond at all without reeling.

The interviewer’s lips form a thin line. “All right, would it be okay if we searched your car?”

“Do you have a warrant?” It’s the wrong thing to say, and he sighs, shaking his head, pretending to be distraught. “I mean, yes. Of course. My father has the keys but I can point it out for you.” He leads security to some random black car that looks close enough to the one they came in and they nod. They tell him which direction they left in, which is somewhere vaguely headed back to the hotel. Lucas is left to his own devices under the assumption they’ll have more questions for him later. “If you see her, call me,” he insists, wiping his nose on the back of his hand and leaving his hotel phone number.

The walk back to the hotel is harsh, and Lucas keeps his head held high as he works through his next steps. _Boyfriend_. Someone else touched his girl. He can feel it now. And part of him is angry because that ingrate is probably already dead. But a larger part of him is impressed. Betty is a great actress, just like him. They’re so alike, and yet she still can’t see it. Maybe he’s underestimated her. Overestimated her too, in some ways. He’s not sure how to fix her, how to fix _this._ She’s lost sight of the big picture. And that’s a problem he’s not entirely sure how to fix.

His phone pings just as he’s approaching the hotel.

 

* * *

 

The surreal aspect of feeling like a doll playing house doesn’t quite fade in Veronica’s king size bed, Betty’s legs dangling bare over the edge as the brunette darling in a plum dress plops down strawberries and champagne.

“To the bachelorette,” she grins, toasting the blonde.

Maybe having an armed guard has made Veronica used to wiping away problems without second questions. “Lucas is still out there,” Betty reminds her gently. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m incredibly grateful for what you and your family are doing for me, but this isn’t over until Lucas is behind bars.”

Huffing, but certainly not deterred, Veronica purses her lips. “Are you sure you wouldn’t just prefer a mysterious accident?” Betty widens her eyes in shock. Do they _do_ that? Veronica contemplates into the flute of liquid at her lips. “Daddy’s talking to his lawyer right now, and Antoine’s keeping an eye on Lucas’s dad. Charlie Ward.” The brunette’s ability to remember details impresses Betty, who smiles. Veronica catches it and basks in the subtle approval.

Betty presses her palms into the bedspread, thankful that the sweaty gloves protect it from her blood. “You know Mr. Ward is a lawyer too? I hope you’re not going to get sued or anything. Lucas might…he might come after you too, if he knows you helped me.”

Veronica’s perfectly manicured hand waves away the thought, as if it’s impossible. “I’m not intimidated by a guy like Lucas. Daddy has a way of getting out of anything.”

The way Veronica brushes off consequences makes Betty a little uneasy, but right now she could use a friend. An ally. A powerful one who doesn’t let men in dark suits chase her down the streets.

“Thank you. For believing me. For helping me,” she reiterates, squeezing the girl’s hand. “You’re a good person.”

Veronica’s cheeks flush almost the same shade of burgundy as her lips, and she looks away with a wry smile. “Anything for my bestie, B!” Betty giggles for the first time since being shoved into that black car. She lets the impossible feeling of lightness bubble inside of her without the assistance of any champagne.

 

* * *

 

Jughead’s hand grips the door handle until his knuckles are white. According to the hotel, they haven’t checked out. They’ll be there soon, and Betty won’t be alone. “Let me out, I’ll go in,” he orders Archie, foot tapping against the door.

“He will literally _shoot_ you if you go in there by yourself. We’re going in together. I’m getting you both home in one piece,” Archie insists, eyebrows high enough on his forehead that arguing seems fruitless. That doesn’t stop Jughead from unbuckling his seat belt and edging forward in his seat.

They find parking just up the street and book it down to the hotel lobby doors. “Your arm,” Archie reminds him, opening the door like a gentleman. Jughead almost wants to laugh. Of course he’d be worried about both of them in a moment like this.

“Excuse me, is there anyone under the name of Ward or Cooper here?” Archie asks at the desk as Jughead moves forward, swiveling in search of a certain blonde. Would Lucas make her put on a wig? That seems just creepy enough to be his M.O. But he probably likes her hair, so no.

“One moment, someone will be down to greet you,” the concierge says politely, putting the phone back in the cradle. Archie goes white, meeting Jughead’s panicked gaze.

“Um, you mean Lucas?” Archie asks slowly. Jughead’s already backing up behind a column, trying to keep his eyes on the exits and elevators. He wants to just get her room number and barrel in there with an axe but he guesses that’s not how things are going to go down. He hates this, the anticipation. His arm starts to throb and he has to remind himself not to get too worked up, as if that’s an option. Lucas has a gun, but there’s no way he’d bring it down here.

The concierge gives him a little shake of her head and after a minute the only person they see come down is a confident brunette in some kind of plum ensemble and winged eyeliner. She glances at the concierge for confirmation before receiving confirmation that they’re the guests. “Hello. Are you a friend of Lucas?” she asks, and although Jughead is to the side he can see that she’s taking a photo of the redhead. Maybe Face-Timing? Fuck. Lucas has gotten advanced if he has some kind of secretary now.

“ _No._ Definitely not,” Archie answers decisively, bristling at the implication. “We’re here for Betty.”

“Huh. Are you a kidnapper as well?” The girl tilts her head, an impish look on her face. “We’ve had an influx of strong angry guys lately.”

“W—what? No! We’re her friends!”

“Is that true, B?” she asks, and Jughead steps forward, his entire soul urging for her safety. Her face doesn’t appear in the lobby, although he does hear her little voice from the girl’s screen.

“Oh my god! Archie?!”

Jughead's heart aches, twisting painfully in relieg. “Betty,” he breathes, at the same time Archie’s face lights up in a grin.

“Is that her?”

The girl swivels the camera around to catch Jughead’s wide-eyed stare, a little unnerved that he'd been hiding behind something. "That's correct. I’m Veronica, her savior and new best friend.” Jughead highly doubts that, but doesn’t care enough to question it as long as Betty’s out of harm’s way.

He can’t see her, but he hears her sharp intake of breath. “JUG? You’re okay?!” Her voice breaks off in tears. “I’m so sorry. I’m coming down, you guys.” Veronica edges the phone away, concern flashing on her face as Jughead reaches for it.

“You will do no such thing!” the brunette complains, switching the orientation of the camera with a few jabs to the screen. “I told you, safety first. I’ll bring them up to you.”

“Betty, where are you?” he asks, leaning towards the phone and feeling desperate. It feels like yet another barrier keeping them apart.

“Patience, boys.” Veronica motions for them to follow her, and they do without question. “Damn, Betty. Do you always have an entourage of hunks chasing you around?”

“Trust me,” she laughs lightly. “No one even noticed me that way until Lucas came around.”

“That’s not true,” Jughead protests, probably a little too forcefully in front of a stranger. And Archie, who hasn’t fully come to terms what his pals were doing in the woods until they were interrupted by a gunshot.

Curious, Veronica eyes the boys as the elevator closes and she hangs up with a quick, “See you soon, B.” The anticipation bubbles in his stomach. He’s going to see, _touch_ Betty and she’s going to be all right. Jughead wipes his sweaty fingers on the side of his jeans as Veronica eyes Archie. “What about you? Are you Team Betty?”

“Well, yeah,” he says awkwardly, raising his shoulder as if it’s obvious. “She’s my best friend.”

“Guess that means we’re allies then,” she decides amicably, almost brushing her shoulder against his. Rolling his eyes, Jughead stares at the lights on the elevator, willing them to lead to safety.

“Where’s Lucas?” he asks, fearing the answer.

Veronica takes a deep breath, decidedly glancing at her phone. “We’re working on that.”

“Working on that?! The guy should be _dead_ or in _jail._ ”

Archie clears his throat a bit more diplomatically. “So…what does that mean? We don’t know where he is, or we do and we just can’t get to him?”

“Well…we’re deciding _how_ to get to him,” she says carefully, as if that explains anything.

It might be the blood loss and hours spent in a car, but Jughead has absolutely no patience for this. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Jug—“ Archie warns, shooting him a look.

“It means—well, we’re deciding exactly what kind of justice we’re going to pursue. Betty and I will explain it all. For now,” she starts, stepping out of the newly opened elevator with her card key poised to unlock paradise. “Say hello to your girl.”

The heavy door swings open and Jughead tries to contain himself from barreling over the small girl in his path because she’s _here_. She’s here and she’s alive and she’s—breathtaking.

The entirety of her is a vision, a culmination of everything that can be good in the world. Her giving smile, long eyelashes, brilliant mind. Those big beautiful, emotion-rich eyes that make him feel like he’s sinking into a warm pool. Her hair is still the streaked pale blonde he’s always known, but it’s loose and wild around her shoulders instead of tied back in its tight ponytail. Some kind of silken gray elegance rests on top of her, and it looks almost as soft as her skin. He bites the inside of his lip as he moves forward, trying to contain the sob of relief at their reunion. He all but collapses around her, mouth buried into her neck as Archie encompasses them both from the side. The pressure of arms and love and weight erupts Betty and Jughead into giggling tears, Archie teasing them, “Hey, it’s all right. We’re all right,” while rubbing their arms and backs comfortingly.

“Well this is surprisingly sweet,” Veronica sniffs, looking a little bewildered by their display. “I don’t think I’ve ever had friends who’ve cared about me that much.”

“Maybe you’ve just had the wrong kinda friends,” Archie offers, turning to look at her.

Betty offers Jug a small, private smile, and it takes significant effort to kiss her cheek instead of her lips, even when they’re still connected to Archie. Betty kisses them both on the cheek, although Jughead tinges pink when she lingers against him just a second longer, squeezing his hand and looking worriedly at his arm.

“Do I get one?” Veronica teases, a little sparkle in her smile at Betty. Archie looks like he contemplates being the one to honor the request.

“Of course,” Betty giggles, the sound beautiful even as she wipes her face to lean towards Veronica’s extended cheek. Jughead still doesn’t let go of her hand, not sure if he wants to hold her for three days straight or forever. Her palms are damp, the gloves separating them suddenly taking on a new significance. He’s afraid to remove his hand and find her stained pink or red underneath. Given the last time he saw her…it’s almost inevitable.

It is a wedding ensemble. A pale gray silk dress. Gloves. Bracelets. And the ring…he glances at her hand but the ring isn’t sitting there. Letting the nausea roll around in him, he takes a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” Betty asks, brow furrowed and focus sharp.

Archie stares at them, still standing close but waiting for what’s supposed to happen next.

“I just…I thought I might never see you again. And that you’d be…Mrs. Lucas Ward if I did.”

Shaking her head, Betty’s nails trail across his jaw, the tenderness of it making him ache. Her eyes cloud with light blues and greens, a prism of conflict reflected back at him. “He has my birth certificate, and a lot of other stuff I never thought my parents would give him. But he doesn’t have my name. It’s not something he can take.” Jughead squeezes her as lightly as he can, his mouth set in a firm line to protect it from quivering. He’s never been this much of a mess in his entire life but he wants so much to be strong for her, to be grateful for her own strength.

Clearing his throat, Archie steps forward. “I don’t think your parents gave him all that stuff. My dad’s been talking to them and they’re pretty freaked out.”

Betty turns, bitterness foreign and sharp on her tongue. “Why? Because they weren’t invited to the wedding or because he turned out to be a psycho?”

Shrugging abashedly, Archie stuffs his hands into his pockets. “So now that we’re here, what do we do? Ronnie said that you _kinda_ know where Lucas is?”

Archie sure jumped into nickname territory pretty quickly, but the brunette girl seems fine with it. Betty leans a little closer into Jughead, eyes flickering up at him. “It’s not so much that we know where is…”

“But we know how to get him there,” Veronica finishes, glancing pointedly at the blonde.

It takes a full second before the idea hits Jughead like a punch to the face. “You want to use Betty as _bait?!_ ” Betty opens her mouth, worried, before he cuts her off. “No. Absolutely not. We _just_ got you back!”

“Jug, it’s fine!” she tries to soothe him, hands trailing down the sides of his arms, careful of the wound. “I might not even have to be there. But Veronica’s lawyers seem to think we need to get Lucas back to New York in order for him to be tried.”

“ _Try_ him? You think Keller is going to be able to prosecute him for more than a misdemeanor?”

Her mouth curls a frown of determination. “He shot you, Jug. That has to count for something.”

“Yeah. Medical bills,” he scoffs. “But I’ll break his arms before I willingly let him within fifty feet of you ever again.”

“See? We could arrange a happy accident,” Veronica offers with a dark manicured hand. Jughead shoots her a leftover angry glare before turning back to Betty’s falling face.

Her nails dance along the edge of his shirt and he can tell she’s trying not to curl them inwards towards her palms. Her voice comes out harsh, like she's holding back. “I don’t…I don’t want to stoop to his level. Hurting people out of some kind of twisted vengeance.”

“It’s not twisted, it’s justified,” he argues quietly, aware that the room has darkened to just the two of them somehow. Like she’s all that matters. And maybe she does, for this second.

“If it’s justified, then he’ll be tried as an adult. And you and I will be safe. As will everyone else I love.” When she looks up at him like that, full of such quiet determination, the word _love_ spilling out of her when there’s such an opportunity to be _hate_ , it makes him want to embrace her for all the goodness that she really is. His heart aches as he nods, letting instinct take over as he wraps her in his arms, her own body pressing against his until there’s no air left between them.

“I love you, Betty,” he whispers into her hair, pressing his mouth against her warmth.

“I love you too.” Her words reverberate against his chest. Squeezing them tightly together, he doesn’t feel pain in his arm. Anywhere. Maybe a little ache in his heart as it surges with something he’s meant and felt for a while, something beyond the affection of a childhood friend. It doesn’t even matter if she means forever. Whatever she needs, whatever she wants, she can have. And she can have him, _this_ , as long as she wants it.

Someone clears their throat, causing Betty to take a reluctant step back. Archie looks perplexed, but doesn’t say anything.

“So…are we all on board with luring Lucas back to New York? Or are we enacting Project Vengeance?” Veronica asks, eyebrow arched in a thick line.

Jughead looks at Betty’s calm face, her quiet confidence in a system that’s failed them both. One she thinks they can manipulate back into its rightful place. “Whatever Betty wants.”

“Yeah.” Archie nods decidedly, although his pointed glance at Jughead makes him flush a little. He probably should’ve told him in the car. He _was_ …distracted. Being shot and Betty kidnapped after all. They’ll have to do _the talk_ later. “Whatever gets Lucas out of the way. How can we help?”

“ _So_ glad you asked,” Veronica grins, clapping her hands together.

Jughead’s stomach curls at her enthusiasm, but he feels Betty turn and smile at him, and all his doubts start to fade away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jughead is Mr. Sensitive and I love it. The Lodges are a bunch of morally dubious miracle workers, and I love V in the role of guardian angel/devil haha. The Serpents are still on the case and I left Lucas's current location dubious because of reasons for next chapter. Mr. Ward is tied up at the moment. I would've had Betty kick his ass but I think it was important that she felt powerful enough to take the chance to walk away from the carnage. The Security Guards at the courthouse technically don't have anything to go off of other than a random girl running around so that's why they haven't done anything. I saw a cop yesterday and almost asked them some hypothetical questions but figured they'd think I was nuts so I just used my imagination XD How are you feeling about everything? Glad Bughead is reunited? How do you think THIS Archie feels about Bughead? Because he has thoughts. They'll come out, most likely next chapter. This thing keeps growing and I'm like, "I JUST WANT LUCAS BEHIND BARS OR PUNCHED" but he's a slippery little devil. His time is coming soooon~ Any thoughts or favorite moments are much appreciated thank you ^-^


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I'm not loving you, the way I wanted to_  
>  What I had to do, had to run from you  
> I'm in love with you, but the vibe is wrong  
> And that haunted me, all the way home  
> So ya never know, never never know  
> Never know enough, til it's over love  
> Til we lose control, system overload  
> Screaming no no no, no no  
> I'm not loving you, the way I wanted to  
> See I wanna move, but can't escape from you  
> So I keep it low, keep a secret code  
> So everybody else don't have to know - "Love Lockdown" by Kanye West

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep so Lucas was scaring me, hence the slow update. I can't explain. I was listening to a lot of scary music to get into his head and it was not a fun place and I feel like he's going to haunt the HELL outta me if I don't write him a nice follow-up where he gets the girl and world domination. Also if Hiram wasn't such a scary badass himself I'm pretty sure Lucas would've done something WRECKED in that hotel.

 

 

Betty looks adorably herself in a pair of dark jeans and a white camisole, her hair slung up in a ponytail. Anything Veronica offered up would’ve drowned Betty in the unfamiliar sauciness of her new friend. Jughead wants to clap Archie’s shoulder in thanks for remembering to bring some extra clothes for their potential overnighter in the woods.

“How’d you convince Alice to let you grab some of her daughter’s belongings?”

“Uh…not sure if _allowed_ is the right term to use,” Archie admits, nudging some of the strawberries around on his plate. It’s like he’s worried if he eats too many he’ll upset the clearly rich brunette in the other room. “Betty’s bedroom window was unlocked, so I climbed up onto the landing like when we were kids and grabbed a duffel bag of stuff.” Archie has the decency to blush and look at the floor. “It felt weird going in her underwear drawer. Especially now, since…”

Jughead swallows something hard in his throat. “At least now she has the essentials.”

The boys awkwardly shift their weight in the living room, Veronica busy ticking off items on the checklist on her phone in the open bedroom with Betty. Jughead snags a strawberry just to have something to do, its tart sweetness bursting in his mouth.

“So…what’s going on with you and Betty? I mean, I know we all love each other but…” Archie looks ahead at the blonde they’ve both treasured for as long as they can remember. Archie’s body language is somewhat rigid, but he’s _trying_ to relax.

“I…” Jughead takes a deep breath, tearing his eyes off Betty long enough to look seriously at his friend. “I’m _in_ love with her. Kind of always have been, just…lately…it became a real possibility that I could make her happy.” A self-deprecating laugh falls out of him as he lowers his chin towards the floor. “Didn’t think I had it in me to make anyone happy like that, but she says I can, so…” Something warm and glowing tingles through his body, remembering the way she looked at him in the woods. He studies the carpet, smiling softly at the memory. “We’re going to start…going together, I guess.”

Archie’s mouth goes a little sideways at that. “Like, _now_?”

His throat tightens a little as he swallows. “Well, yeah.”

“You do realize her ex-boyfriend shot you, right? And that he’s still out there?”

Jughead rolls his eyes at the obviousness of the statement, focusing on their girl in the bedroom. “Betty needs us.”

“Yeah…as her friends. Allies.” The soft glow inside of Jughead tapers off, and he looks at Archie’s furrowed brow, wondering if he means that loving her is somehow less helpful than just being her friend. If his love is a hinderance. He’s not…forcing her into anything or falling into the rebound role. At least, not according to her. But doubt creeps up his throat nonetheless. Archie steels his expression, taking a tentative step forward. “You know I love you both, and obviously you’re a way better candidate than Lucas—“

“Like _that’s_ hard,” Jughead scoffs.

“But I have to think about long-term. I mean, what about the Serpents? Aren’t you still kinda…with them?”

Chest constricting, Jughead glares at his friend. “ _Yes_. What does that have to do with anything? They could protect her—us.”

Archie shrugs one shoulder up, as if he’s sorry he even has to bring it up. “It just seems like another round of violence waiting to happen. I mean, the Serpents aren’t going to let you date a north sider unless there’s some ulterior motive or she joins up, which, correct me if I’m wrong, includes being beaten in.”

Jughead swallows thickly, glancing to the side. He hopes his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. It’s not like he’s imagined Betty would be wearing a leather jacket outside of his own. “The girls…do a dance.”

“A dance?”

“A…uh…striptease. But Betty wouldn’t—”

The redhead’s voice barrels across the room. “Stripping?! She’s sixteen!”

“I know!” Jughead hisses through his teeth, glaring at his friend to tell him to keep it the fuck down. Archie shakes his head a little, quieting but no less hyped up. Veronica and Betty glance at them warily, but exchange a subtle confused gesture as they keep going over their checklist. It’s a few seconds for the rattling in his chest to calm down, shooting another glare at Archie.

Tongue swiping his teeth, Archie leans in, the strawberries rolling unceremoniously on his plate. “And the Ghoulies? I know Mrs. Cooper exaggerates that stuff, but there is some truth to it. You could be putting her in danger again, and that’s not what this is about.”

“Yeah, well it’s not about some twisted love story turning into a happy-ever-after either,” Jughead spits, crossing his arms. Fuck. He thought this would go a _lot_ better. “It just _happened_ , Archie. Of course I want what’s best for her. Right now, she thinks that’s being herself, and being with me. No rebound. No town line bullshit. No _fuck you_ to her ex.” His gaze softens on the blonde tenderly applying gauze to her palms. “Just…us.”

At that, his friend blanks. Like the idea is unheard of, near impossible. Archie scratches the back of his head. “I…I mean, I’m happy for you. Of course I am. You’re my two best friends. It’s _weird_ ,” he admits, glancing between them. “But if that’s what’s going on, of course you have my blessing. Just…don’t hurt her or let her get drawn into anything shady. I’d hate to have to take out _two_ ex-boyfriends.” A wry grin slides across Jughead’s face, uninjured arm jabbing at his friend. “Ow!” Archie laughs, turning away. “Careful, you’ll tear your stitches!”

“Might be worth it,” Jughead smirks, shaking his head at his friend.

 

* * *

 

It’s dark in the corner of the lobby, even with the curtains open. Lucas sits with his neck draped across the back of his chair, still wearing what he’s dubbed his wedding suit. But _someone_ interfered. He takes a deep sip of water, willing his tension headache away. She’s _somewhere_ in the hotel. He can feel it. If only his useless father would pick up the fucking phone he’d know _why_.

Right now feels like wasted time. Getting supplies, pacing his room. His father’s text only said that Betty’s parents had wanted to be there, that they’re meeting them halfway and had sent some aunt to grab Betty before the ceremony and they’re working out travel arrangements. Supposedly they’re not allowed to just walk in and get married today. While _technically_ that may be true, there’s always a way around the law. His father, the _layer_ , should know that.

Shifting irritably, Lucas twists the rings on his fingers. A short, stocky, elegant man in a suit approaches the front desk, everything about his tone implying he’s in command. He looks familiar. Lucas studies him, trying to place the acquaintance. The well-groomed man feels his gaze, turns, and for a moment Lucas recognizes him as a similar animal. Ruthless. There’s a certain air of judgement in the other man’s eyes too, and he eventually turns, keeping his verdict to himself. But Lucas can read it, he’s been targeted as a threat. Maybe not a big one, maybe not one worth his time, but a threat nonetheless.

“Yes, sir. Immediately, Mr. Lodge,” the attendant at the front desk assures him.

Nodding, the man turns and answers his phone, punctuating each pause with a well-thought answer. “M’ija? No. Absolutely not. You’ve already borrowed Antoine for the day. We do not run a charity. You know as well as I do what _charity_ means. No, M’ija. We are here for the family. You know that. I expect you to be primped and ready in thirty minutes. No, that’s final. Her people are here and that will be enough. My hands are tied. Say goodbye to your friend.”

Neck practically clicking into place, Lucas stares at him. _Lodge._ A quick search on his phone is all it takes. Veronica Lodge. It’s the girl from this morning, the one obsessed with brunch. Lucas doesn’t really _have_ a social media presence outside of some dummy accounts that have come in handy on occasion, but this girl is all over it. So. Who is Antoine, “her people,” and does she in fact have something to do with Betty’s disappearance?

_Where are we meeting her parents?_ Lucas texts rather frostily to his father, knowing from recent attempts that he won’t pick up.

_The wilderness park near Chestertown. I’ll come pick you up in two hours. Just sorting out the details here so you can get married tomorrow._

They want him back in New York. Lucas starts making calls, checking nearby Chestertown hotels for reservations. Last name Cooper. Last name Lodge. He finds one for tonight. Perfect. He snaps the phone shut, glaring at the hotel. At the very least, Betty’s not the only one who knows how to hot-wire a car. It only makes sense to head them off.

Although he wants to tear into them here, to track down this Lodge person and haul Betty out of her manicured hands, if the man at the desk is anything like Lucas, he’ll use everything at his disposal to assert his and his daughter’s authority. Although Lucas’s father is clearly compromised, that won’t stop Lucas from getting what he wants. It never does.

Besides, the long drive will give his eager imagination lots of time to come up with some creative scenarios for when they’re reunited. Everyone always thinks they’re so smart, but they underestimate him. By next week Betty and him will probably both be enrolled in a new high school as husband and wife, their photos smiling at him from the extended frames she’d gifted him. Tongue running along his teeth, he wonders how much self control he’ll have when his hands are around her throat, pulling her lies out like a magician pulls colorful scarves. It feels like he has to perform an exorcism. But it’ll be worth it. Worth it to have his dark darling squirming underneath him again, and this time without much reason to go gentle.

 

* * *

 

 

Shivering, Betty slides into Jughead’s arms.

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs against her ear.

“I just…I feel like he’s _here_ , breathing down my neck,” she confesses. Veronica shoots them a look, and even though she’s been _more_ than helpful, Betty can’t help but blush. “I know it’s silly. It’s not like he can get into your suite.”

“Obviously,” she reaffirms, pushing back a perfectly coiffed curl over her shoulder. “But it’s better to be safe than sorry. I’ll have Antoine make sure him and his father have a lovely reunion. Punctuated with reminders about how to treat a lady,” she adds, lips pursed.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Betty flushes, looking at her feet. Jughead tightens his grip on her waist. “He’s got the whole charming boyfriend act down—“

“Fiancé,” Veronica mocks, not quite noting the visible flinch that carries around the room. Betty’s ribs squeak protest as Jughead’s fingers ply harder into her, but before her breathing constricts he seems to remember himself and instantly lifts the pressure. Unlike someone else she knows.

Clearing her throat, Betty continues, “It’s more like he won’t take no for an answer. Especially when it’s something he wants.”

The brunette girl chomps on a small strawberry, quirking an eyebrow. “Sounds less than charming to me.” Dunking the leftover stem in her drained champagne glass, Veronica plucks Betty’s phone from the charger and turns it on. “All right. I hate to run, but Daddy _insists_. I’m adding my contact information here in case you need anything. We’ll be in Vermont through tomorrow night but then we’re back to New York.”

“Me too!” Archie adds. “We’re…Riverdale’s not too far from there.” Betty smiles at him, happy to see his face kind of brightening. And it’s impossible to miss the little glean in Veronica’s eye. At least not _everything_ is awful that came from this weekend. As she leans back into Jughead’s touch, it occurs to her that at least a moment or two was _amazing_.

The brunette hands off Betty’s device and waits expectantly for Archie’s. “What a coincidence. Maybe I should add my information to your phone too. Just in case we all want to meet up and check on B.”

Looking up at Jughead, Betty’s not surprised to find him rolling his eyes. But it’s endearing. Normal, without the threat of a bruise underneath. Something unknots in her chest and she pats his jaw with affection. Surprised, he glances down at her, a small smile plying his lips while his gaze circles over her mouth. _Flirt_ , she wants to tease him.

She wants…she wants to kiss him now, but it’s too weird. Obviously he wants it too. But…Archie? He’d probably have a heart attack if his two best friends moved beyond general cuddling into kissing right in some virtual stranger’s living room. Sensing her hesitation, Jughead presses a quick kiss to her palm instead. It’s like a jolt of warmth straight to her heart, tugging up the corners of her cheeks in a smile. Archie raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment, complimenting Veronica on something or another.

A small vibration against her side has both Jughead and Betty jumping in alarm. “I…I have to take this,” he apologizes, kissing her forehead and stepping aside. Although she flashes him a smile, the anxiety in his stance has her drifting after him.

“Dad…we’re at the hotel. No, she doesn’t—Yeah. Yeah, I know. We’ll—“ he looks over his shoulder, spotting her and swallowing. “We’ll talk about this later, okay? I’ll call you back. We’re heading to the park in a minute. Yeah.”

When he hangs up, Betty feels like a spool of black thread’s tangled in her chest. It’s possibly just left over from the Lucas drama, but as much as she hates to admit it, this might be something else. 

 

* * *

 

The diner seems _relatively_ safe, Jughead thinks. It’s certainly not the kind of place Lucas would meander off to in search of lunch. He probably only eats sushi and room service in a place like this. FP settles in across from him, Tall Boy lingering at the counter to keep an eye out. 

“So what exactly is the plan here?” FP asks, stretching in his leather jacket. His eyes are dark, focused, and sharp. It’s not something Jughead’s used to, and it takes him a full second to process that his father is legitimately asking him what’s going on.

“Betty wants Lucas to get arrested. So this girl from the hotel had her bodyguard snatch up his dad—‘

“Is that what you want?” FP shifts forward in his seat, like he’s already gearing to get up and get back on his bike.

Jughead shifts uncomfortably. “I mean, it’s Betty’s call.”

Scowling, FP moves aside Jughead’s steaming coffee cup. “Like hell it is. That little punk tried to burn down our trailer, to intimidate Topaz. He _shot_ you and left you for dead. This guy _spat_ on the Serpents name. On _our_ name.” FP’s eyes are practically burning into him. “And if that’s not enough for revenge, he roughed up your little girlfriend enough that she’s afraid to come back to town. Our town, Jughead. That little prep thinks he can try to ruin Riverdale and run away? _We_ are going to do something about it.”

A knot forms in Jughead’s throat. While he hasn’t exactly divulged the nature of the relationship between him and Betty, it’s no surprise that FP’s picked up some possibly more-than-friendly vibes. It’s not like he’s driving across state lines and getting shot for his Serpent friends every day. Not that he _wouldn’t_ , it just…would feel like more like a job instead of his entire body being ground into a powder every second they’re apart.

Feeling nervous, he taps his cup, testing the heat. “We’re setting it up so his dad drives him to some park in New York where Sheriff Keller and the cops will be waiting.”

His dad sits back incredulously. “You think the cops are going to take one look at a rich white boy who dresses like him and send him to jail? He’ll be out on bail in a second. And where will your girlfriend be? Where will you and the Serpents be when that nut decides he wants revenge?” Feel parched, Jughead takes a deep gulp of his coffee, letting the bitterness coat his throat. FP leans forward conspiratorially as Jughead’s heart rate jumps. “How many articles have you read about some prep _just like him_ who got off for worse just because of his background? And going up against you and Betty? The Serpent and the nut?”

A vein throbs in Jughead’s throat. “Betty’s not—“

“I’m not saying she is, but that’s how they’ll spin it. Her sister’s off at some _farm_ you said? They probably won’t even let her take the stand. They sure as hell won’t believe anything _you_ have to say. Lucas is going to cry conspiracy. Even if you get Archie and Reggie and whomever else he’s gone up against, this kid is smart. We need to be smarter. We need to strike harder. We need to do this the Serpent way, or else everyone else is going to get hurt.”

“You’re just saying that because he tried to burn our house down.”

FP glowers, and Jughead can’t help but sink into his coffee. _Okay, fair._

“I promised Betty…”

“Did you?” FP asks, twisting a piece of toast and dipping it into his eggs. “Or did you consider it?”

Letting out a shaky breath, Jughead turns his head to the side. “I can’t betray her like that. Even if I do want to beat the shit out of him—“

“We’re not killers, Jughead. It’s not like she’ll see you differently because Lucas got into an accident.”

An uneasy feeling ripples through him. His dad has a point. Lucas is just going to get out on bail, and Betty will have to be nearby to testify. She’ll be in danger _again_ within a week unless they neuter him somehow. And she’s practically homeless, totally unprotected. Not to mention the whole trailer park could go up in flames without a constant vigil, following his wake of destruction. Knowing Lucas, he’d probably get a restraining order against the Serpents and idiot biased Sheriff Keller would give it to him. Then how are they supposed to testify, let alone protect their own? The only way to stop him is to cut him off ahead of time.

“An accident?”

Isn’t that what Lucas said about gripping Betty until she bruised? _It was an accident_.

FP nods, and Jughead feels himself mirroring his stern expression. 

“What do you have in mind?”

 

* * *

 

It’s almost unbearably uncomfortable on the ride back to New York. Jughead’s gnawing on some dried jerky from the cooler, Archie’s animatedly chatting about how cool the hotel was and already trying to plan the next check-in with Veronica.

It’s not the conversation or even the fact that she’s crowded between them that makes her squirm or feel like something’s constantly jabbing into her back. Jughead’s arm is resting carefully up behind them and her bruises hurt with the constant vibration of the motor, sure. But it’s something else. Something she can’t quite put her finger on. This lingering shiver every time a black car approaches on the road. Lucas should still be at the hotel. She should feel _safe_.

Trying to distract herself, she taps Jughead’s knee. “Is your dad spending some time in Vermont or is he coming back?”

“He’s…I’m not sure,” Jughead frowns, looking out the window.

Feeling _weird_ , like little moths are burrowing in her stomach, she tugs her shirt further down her lap. “Okay. I was just wondering. I’m not sure if Kevin can still let me stay at his house but…”

“You want to stay at the trailer? With me?” he asks, whipping his attention from the window to her face.

Subtly, she nods. She’s not even sure if he’s just clarifying or asking for real. His eyes are practically sparkling at her and she kind of wants to lean into him. But it’s not…sexual, she wants to assure him. Maybe it is, a little. But…

She turns to their friend over her shoulder. “It’s not like I can stay with Archie. I think my mom would break down the door as soon as she saw me over there.”

Letting loose a laugh, Archie nods. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure my dad wants to stay out of this one. I mean, you’re welcome any time, but I’m pretty sure the proximity to your parents would be lethal.”

“How are they, by the way?” She hates the way her voice strains, lilting an octave higher than normal.

Even Archie seems a little hot under the collar. “Um, I haven’t checked in a while, but Dad says they’re…processing.”

_Processing_. Right. Biting her lip, Betty turns to look out the window. Sensing her distress, Jughead rubs her outer thigh. “It’s not much, but the trailer is yours. Let me ask my dad.”

Something close to anxious relief flutters through her, the moths settling higher inside of her stomach. But when she glances at the screen, she sees skull and crossbone emojis.

_Serpent Justice_.

Breathing in sharply, everything clenches inside of her. Hope and optimism were silenced by the glare of his screen, even if the messages were from earlier today. More death. More anguish. More pain. Even if it is Lucas’s…she feels like getting him arrested is harsh enough for him, even if it’s just a year or two of juvenile detention before he turns 18. It certainly would feel that way to him. Why would Harvard accept someone with a black mark like that on his record?

Her tongue feels slimy, almost like the aftertaste of morning breath.

Jughead stiffens beside her. “You okay? You change your mind?”

Swallowing, she shakes her head. “No. I just…want this to be over.” Damp palms prevent her from digging in or even healing, so she swipes them on her knees.

When she gets to the hotel room, she’ll figure out what to do. She has to.

 

* * *

 

Blood bubbles in his veins when the door clicks open. _Finally. It’s time._ He hears the shift of her clothing as her legs carry her forward. Only one set of feet. Perfect. So he shouldn’t need his weapon. She walks past him towards the curtains, hesitating, probably not wanting to open them. Staying submerged in darkness. His smart little girl. Part of him wants to lunge forward, to ravage her and squeeze all the bad things she’s done right out of their lives. But she’s nervous, and he feels a small twinge of satisfaction watching her without her knowledge. Restless, her fingers brush through her wavy, soft hair. Travel hasn’t been kind to what they’d set this morning, the curves not quite manufactured or synchronous. Most of her makeup from this morning is still intact, although she does still have naturally long eyelashes. He digs into the armrest of the lounge chair to keep himself grounded, waiting for the right moment.

She turns to the mirror, taking a few shaky breaths, and that’s when she sees him. Everything in the room seems to freeze, rippling with the chill of satisfaction. _Yes_ , he wants to grin. Because it really paints quite the perfect picture. He’s still immaculate in a fresh button-down and slacks, a lightweight sports jacket. All dark. The way she likes it. Her breath hitches in her throat, eyes fixed on his through the mirror. Riveted.

Waiting makes it more fun, watching her try to make sense of it, running through different scenarios in her head. Her pupils dilate, pulsating with each passing second. Somehow it seems like he can see _more_ of her through the reflection of the mirror. Her luminous white shirt drapes over tight midnight blue jeans that hug her hips, a pair he’s tugged off _very_ slowly on more than one occasion. And how did she get it, he wonders. He feels saliva pool at the front of his teeth and does his best to keep it at bay.

The sound of her swallow feeds something low in his gut. His steady heartbeat distorts momentarily, vibrating in anticipation.

“You have to go,” she says, voice nearly getting stuck as her gaze drops to the frame of the mirror. He tilts his head, waiting for the rest. Letting her squirm a little. “They’re going to kill you.”

That brings a flicker of a smile to his face. Really? Like someone has the nerve, or even the _ability_ to plan something like that. When he doesn’t move, Betty starts for the door.

“Betty—“ he starts, just the slightest hint of the razor underneath. His girl sways, still not turning to face him. Not yet. He knows the game she wants to play. “I underestimated you. That’s not something that happens very often.” Her gaze stays trained somewhere on the door, fist curling in her palms. Maybe he’ll get a little more blood before the day is done.

With practiced ease, he unbuttons his jacket, letting the chill air hit his chest. “There’s obviously no family objection. I’m here because I’m curious. What did you want? What’s the end game here?” Her throat moves, lips in a tight line as he approaches. “What _do_ you want?” he murmurs, daring the briefest touch to her neck. That rapid pulse is delicious, addictive. He wants to press on it, feel it throb under him. “And don’t tell me it’s that boy we bled in the woods. He’s gone now, isn’t he, Betts?”

The glint in her eyes flashes just the briefest hint of what she’s capable of. Such a feisty little thing. “I want to be free to be myself.”

An absurd notion if he’s ever heard one. Leaning forward, he narrows his gaze on her. “I know who you are. You’re more yourself with me than anyone. You know that. I’ve seen you break down, let loose. I’ve unraveled every bit of you, Betty, and put you back together. So don’t pretend this is liberating in some way.”

Serious, quite possibly angry, she shakes her head. “Maybe it isn’t. Just one mess to another. But you don’t love me.”

“Of course I do. Why else would I do all of this? You’re the girl, Betty. The only one.”

“Control,” she swallows thickly, turning her face away. “You want control.”

He breathes shallowly through his nose. Like that isn’t what they _both_ want? Everything would just be easier if she’d give it to him. In this, at least. “And what do you want to control, Betty?” he asks, throat tightening with each breath.

“People need to stop getting hurt because of what I’ve done.” _Good girl_ , he thinks, affectionately laving her skin with his thumb. “What _you’ve_ done,” she adds more forcefully, his smile freezing then fading from his face.

“Now Betty, we’ve been through this,” he warns, teeth feeling sharp against his tongue.

Unintimidated, she levels a gaze at him. The urge to curl his fingers around her spikes his blood pressure. “You can leave. You can stay out of Riverdale and avoid prosecution, avoid the people who want retribution. I know you can.”

Interesting response. So fiercely calm. He swallows his own lingering resentment and probes her skin. “Is that what you want? For me to disappear?” 

Firm, unmoving. “Yes.”

His lips twitch into a smirk, his touch feather-light along her collar. “Really?”

All she manages is a nod.

“And what about you?”

“I go back to Riverdale, resume…restart my life.”

The temperature in the room plummets, pins and needles in the air. “Alone? Without me?”

Quieter this time, she nods, “Yes,” but in the half-second of the syllable, her gaze shoots to the side of the room.

She’s unsure because _clearly_ it’s the wrong decision. Feeling hungry, he moves closer, aware of the way she shuffles back, just enough where he can still breathe on her. “You don’t want _this_ , want _me_ anymore?”

“I don’t want _us_ anymore,” she shivers, backing up even more.

The slick thing inside of him uncurls, stretching towards her. “Don’t you love me, Betty?”

“I…” Her hesitant gaze shifts again. “I just want you to leave.” Resiliency always has been one of her stronger suits.

Softer, he leans in. “Don’t you trust me?”

The shiver he runs through her leaves a darker person in its wake. 

Incensed, he keeps moving forward. “ _What_ _do_ you want, Betty?"

"I don’t—“

“What. Do. You. _Want_?” The words spit out through his teeth, but then the flash of rage subsides, replaced by the cool steel of calm. Patience. A mirror, reflecting back at her. Her breath hitches in her throat, eyes finally flickering between his in something edging on desperation.

Making the decision for her, he leans in, capturing her lips in a kiss. She gasps, stiff for a moment until his mouth plies her open. His hands go up, one around the soft flesh of her breast, the other into her hair, threading there as their tongues drag against each other, leaving the salty taste of their inevitability in its wake. He wants to consume her. The dull edge of her teeth wear against his bottom lip. But then the fangs pierce him, camping down hard enough to draw blood. Sharp pain jolts all the way down to his toes, his dick hardening at the sheer unexpectedness of it.

Before he can swear or ravage her, he’s moving back, stunned as he notices her hands blindly fumbling for the door handle. It fills him with a sudden, overpowering rage.

“What? Do I not _satisfy_ you?” he seethes, trapping her back against the door, shoving his hardness against her abdomen to keep it silent and sated while he deals with this latest indiscretion.

“Lucas—“ she hisses, one hand still twisting the handle, her forearm pushing against his shoulder. Like that’ll stop this— _them_.

“I know I satisfied you, Betty.” The door handle gives, and she tries to swing it out, but he’s faster than that. She’s _smarter_ than that. “I shouldn’t have to remind you of all the times I made you fucking drip with cum _._ So what is it? Huh? You want to fuck someone else the same time I’m fucking you? Suck his cock while I take you from behind? Because you’re a dirty fucking whore, now that I’ve broken you in? You wanna be my trollop, is that it?”

“Stop it, they’re going to _kill_ you!” she yells, swiping his arm to the side. He’s not sure if she’s turned on or legitimately flustered. Either way works for him.

“What did you do?” he asks, shoving his face close enough to smell her. His gaze flickers over her pores for evidence, lingering on her eyes, the place she’s always had the hardest time hiding anything. “What did you two do? Did he fuck you? Did he touch you, Betty?” Every breath is getting him worked up, dusting him in righteous passion.

Everything in her body language shutters in fury. Probably at herself, if he knows her well enough. “It doesn’t matter! We’re not together, Lucas. I’m trying to save your _life_!”

Not together? Scoffing, he shakes his head. “It’s not that _easy_ , is it?” Taken aback, she squints as if he’s gone insane. His voice cools. “See Betty, I had this idea of my life including _you_ in it. So I need to know…what is it going to take?” It’s like he’s stolen her breath away. Didn’t even have to use his hands or the chloroform to do it. Although…

His palm drifts down her jaw, thumb smoothing past her perfectly plump lips. “We’re in this together now, you understand?” Studying him under a furrowed brow, Betty subtly shakes her head. _No?_ She’s smarter than that. “I don’t like wasting time. Especially when I know what’s at the finish line. You. Harvard. That’s my life, Betty, _our_ lives, and your doubts aren’t going to interfere with that. There are more ways than one to keep you focused,” he grits through clenched teeth, his grip tightening. “Even if I have to burn everything else that leads you astray, I’ll kill every doubt inside yourself until there’s nothing left but you and me,” he assures her, meeting her gaze. Her eyes alight on him in understanding, in fear. He graces her with a flash of a smile. One last one, for her. _Loved you, babe_. Maybe too much.

He’s fast enough to block the knee to the crotch but the head-butt into his nose takes him by surprise. The pain splinters into his brain, a flash reminder to _feel_ as wet metallic globs creep down his throat. It’s a mad scramble for the door. Thankfully Betty’s never been much of a screamer, much more of a _moaner_ , but before he can snap the cuffs on her she’s halfway out the door.

He snatches her back by her hair, yanking with a rustling, yelping thud of her body folding back. _That’s it, come to me._ An elbow snaps hard into his face.

“F—uck!” he swears in two parts, clamping her arms against her chest, amazed at the way her whole body lurches against him. This’ll only hurt more if she resists. He should’ve drugged her first. But the thought of watching her, of being reunited _again_ was too much.

He manages to haul her over to the bed, keeping his wrists locked over her heart so her elbows can only swing uselessly at his ribs. She’s playing a little rougher than normal, but nothing he can’t handle.

“Betty,” he hisses warningly, switching to a sleeper hold. “You know I’m only rough when you need it. Stop struggling and I’ll let go.”

A little choking noise is the only acknowledgement he gets. Shifting to get her hair out of his mouth, he kisses her ear. “ _Sh_ , Betty. You’ll be out in no time. When you wake up, this’ll all be over.”

Groaning, Betty reaches back and jabs a thumb in his eye. Amidst swears and rolling around, they topple to the floor. It’s all limbs and adrenaline, thuds and groans in some twisted form of foreplay. Betty’s arm rushes past him, colliding something sharp and metallic with his skull on its way back. Her eyes go wide, and everything fades into slow motion. The ringing…the thudding…it’s like a symphony in the kaleidoscope of her eyes, and Lucas falls into her.

 

* * *

 

She killed him. She _killed_ him. Betty scrambles back, dropping the phone, heart thudding and growing in her throat. “Oh my god,” she moans, trying not to panic. Short breaths limit circulation to her brain, and she desperately tries to untangle herself from his lolling body. “Lucas?” she breathes, checking his pulse, his neck rolling unresponsively as his eyes flutter. Something throbs against her fingers.

He’s alive. He’s alive and she…she’d almost killed him. If she had anything left to give, she’d probably start crying. Maybe she is, she doesn’t even know anymore. This _asshole_ …this abusive…person…she loved him, she ran from him, she’d…hurt him. It’s too much to handle. Betty brings her palms to her forehead, trying to gauge what to do. Call the hospital? The front desk? The police?

Fingers trembling, still half-expecting him to wake up, Betty dials Archie’s cell phone number.

“Yeah?” he answers.

“Archie?”

His tone shifts immediately, and she can practically envision him straightening in his seat. “What happened?”

“He’s _here_ ,” she breathes, squeezing her eyes shut, reminding herself to breathe. “I—he broke into my room. He’s here now.”

Archie’s saying something like, “Don’t move, we’ll be right there,” and scrambling but she keeps talking, trying to find a lifeline amidst all this.

“He tried to kill me or knock me unconscious or…something. And…” her gaze flitters down to the the smooth skin resting so peacefully on his face. How…how could this _happen_? Shivering, she brings her knees up to her chest. “I don’t know if he’s going to wake up or who to call, I—“

“Betty, stay right there! We’re coming! Room 218 right? We’re coming for you.”

Nodding, Betty tries to steady her erratic breaths. Even though Archie’s not speaking to her, she can still make out shuffling footsteps and hurried orders from the muffled receiver. She stares at Lucas’s unmoving body, just waiting for it to reanimate. Part of her wants to smash his head in, just _end_ this before he has the chance to rise. Another wants to chain him to the bed. Not…sexually, although some strange horrible part of her wonders if that’s what he was going to do with her. If she would’ve liked it, before all this happened. If he could’ve choked her until all she breathed was him.

He looks so gentle now, like this. The dark striped shirt betraying his Adam’s apple. He probably wore this outfit just for her, she realizes, a fuzzy, prickly feeling unsettling her stomach. Who the hell wears something _special_ for a kidnapping? He probably doesn’t even see it that way. He just sees… _them_. That posed picture of their smiling faces at Homecoming. With just the noises of faint rustling through the receiver, Betty remembers horribly wonderful things with the golden boy on the floor like they were something out of a dream. His first smile at her. The way it had made her insides glow. The way he’d work lotion and salves into her skin to prevent scarring and aging. Almost pleasant evenings with her family. Trips to museums. Kisses, promises of forever.

Why…

_Why?_

The anger flashes through her like black lightning, tightening the muscles in her jaw.

They could’ve been something special, if only she wasn’t…if only _he_ wasn’t…

Irritated, she wrings the cord around her palms, fighting with the coil in the same way she used to fidget with his ring. What if she does the same thing to Jughead? What if she takes this sweet boy with a history of violence and turns them into something awful? Something _sick_?

The skull and crossbones emoji is almost all she can see.

She stays like that, spinning, until there’s a hurried knock on the door. Lucas flinches, but doesn’t stir, and Betty sets the receiver carefully on the nightstand before moving over him. There’s dark blood flecked in his hair, the corner of his mouth, his nose. It’s almost black. 

Feeling something twist in her gut, Betty steps over him, opening the door for a sweating Archie. “Where is he?” he pants, already moving into the room with one hand up. “Does he have a gun?”

“He’s unconscious, over there,” she gestures.

Archie stalks over where she left him, his features morphing into shock. “You did this?”

Swallowing hard and crossing her arms, she nods. What does that even _mean_ anymore?

“Okay,” Archie nods, direct. He’s already in problem-solving mode. “We’ll get you out of here. Jug and his dad are on the way.”

Still feeling prickly and sick, she asks, “Jughead’s dad is coming?”

“Yeah, well…after he was shot, FP wanted to check on Jug. They should be here any minute.”

An uneasy silence falls between them. She knows what FP wants to do. So does Archie. And now neither of them can think of what to say. They both stare at the body of the boy who would’ve taken everything away, and as Archie puts his arm around her, she tries to remember how to preserve what she has left.

 

* * *

 

The door’s bolted open by the time they get to it. For once, Jughead is grateful for his dad’s presence when he confidently busts in. Betty’s a pale figure wrapped under Archie’s shoulder, immediately straightening when she sees him. What he assumes are Lucas’s feet stick out from behind the other side of the bed on the floor.

“Jug.”

It’s enough to relieve the near-constant tension in his body. Even though Archie had texted that she was okay and Lucas unconscious, seeing the evidence before him was infinitely better than the words on the screen.

“Betty,” he breathes, welcoming the weight of her as she moves in for a hug. “What happened?”

To Jughead’s embarrassment, FP’s already circling the body with a discerning eye. “Looks like she knocked him out with the telephone. He do anything to you?” FP asks, one eyebrow cocked.

Gaping for a moment, Betty looks like she isn’t sure how to answer. “I mean…yeah.”

“I’m asking because if you need a kit…”

Flushing from head to toe, Betty shakes her head. Jughead shoots a glare at his father for being insensitive, but FP gives him a look that says, _better safe than sorry, kid. It happens_. And the sick thing is, it _does_ happen. It probably almost did. Jughead glares at the boy on the floor, wanting to dig his heel into a very sensitive part of him and grind it into dust. But Archie said they need to be her friends right now, so he will. Jughead takes a minute to search Betty for any lingering injuries. He just _did_ this hours ago. It doesn’t seem fair. There are already new bruises forming on her forehead and neck. Her mouth’s redder than normal. Betty must feel him looking and swipes her tongue over her lips like she’s embarrassed about something, hiding it. But there shouldn’t be anything she needs to hide from anymore.

“What happened, Betty?” he asks, tracing her back softly.

“I don’t really want to talk about it here,” she says stiffly, crossing her arms. “I just want to be done with this nightmare. He’s here. He’s…vulnerable. Let’s get him in jail.”

The boys exchange nervous glances, Jughead’s fingers twining into the edge of her hair.

FP nods, directing them casually with one hand. “Archie, you take Betty to Sheriff Keller. Jug and I will get Lucas back in Riverdale to be tried.”

“How?” Betty asks, her eyebrow arching sharply. Jughead instinctively palms her shoulder, hoping to ease the tension there. It’s weird, this instinctual desire to comfort her. He can’t remember the last time anyone’s smoothed _his_ shoulder.

His father takes a deep breath. “Well, kid had to come here in something, right? We’ll take his car and get him back to Riverdale.” The pointed nod at Jughead doesn’t escape his notice. “So, uh, Archie, why don’t you get the pickup. Jug…say goodbye to Betty. I’ll stay here with the kid for a minute.”

_The kid._ Like Lucas isn’t a monster of drive-in movie potential. Jughead nods, gently leading Betty towards the door. Archie and him follow her instructions but she mostly grabs her own stuff. FP’s, “ _Shit,_ ” startles them just as they’re about to leave. It’s not surprising that her fists curl, eyes widening in preparation for her ex to pop back up to life. But FP straightens, reassuring them that all is okay, and Jughead has the weird urge to hold Betty back, to draw her away from all this.

“Sorry,” FP clears his throat. “I was looking for the car keys and uh…found some shit.” His hand moves, a jangling noise accompanying it. A familiar pair of handcuffs dangle threateningly from his fingers. Bile curls in Jughead’s throat. It’s the pair that wound around Betty when she was stuffed into Lucas’s car. The imprint of cold mud on his cheek floods his senses, a memory of bleeding and screaming after them in the woods. There’s a little more rattling to draw him back to the present, but FP’s pointed glance makes it clear that’s their cue to go.

“Come on, Betts,” he mutters, gently guiding her out of the room.

Archie helpfully volunteers to bring around the car, leaving them a few minutes to themselves. Jughead’s not sure what to say, the steady thrum of, _it’s almost over_ repeating endlessly in his head.

The wet sound of saliva draws his attention to her lips, where she’s nervously licking them again, eyes wide and occasionally darting around the mini courtyard they’re waiting in.

“I’m… _exhausted_ , Jug.”

“Can’t blame you.”

Her eyes flicker to his arm, now hidden under a spare flannel. His heart thumps painfully when a little frown tugs at her mouth.

“Hey…it’s almost over now,” he tries to reassure her, turning to caress her jaw and try to make her look at him. Prove that he’s fine. That _they_ _will be_ fine. But her eyes are dark and cloudy.

“It doesn’t feel that way.” Her breath catches, almost like she’s stumbling over her next words. Jughead puts both his hands up on her shoulders as if somehow that means he can catch her. “I don’t know if I can do this. Us.” Air hovers inside of him, hollowing out his insides. Afraid of breathing, Jughead clenches his jaw, nostrils flaring and his eyes fiercely clamping onto hers. Betty looks desperate, apologetic. _She needs a friend_ , Archie said. But he didn’t say anything about the radiating pain that would echo from being downgraded, the feeling of being scooped out and emptied like the insides of a pumpkin about to collapse on itself. “I can’t hurt you like this, Jughead. You mean so much to me.”

_So why are you hurting me now?_ he wants to ask, but can’t. His jaw feels wired shut. He knows if he opens his mouth it’s going to be a stream of obscene angry outbursts.

Biting her lip, Betty traces his cheek with care, and it almost feels like yet another scoop of himself he can give to her as he tries to relish it. “I…I kissed Lucas.” A steady thrumming vibrates in his chest. It’s not like he doesn’t _know_ this. He’d seen it. The drive-in, the woods. But it makes him anxious all the same.

Betty’s eyes dart between his, rapidly trying to read him, to clarify beyond the dull roar in his ears. He’s not even sure how reachable he is right now, wants to tell her to stop, to push away the past. She doesn’t get it, and explains in a quavered voice, “I mean, we kissed when I was kidnapped. He…we had to do things in the car. The hotel.” Jughead closes his eyes, not sure if he can open them again, but Betty keeps talking, keeps stroking his face, so he thinks maybe the pain will end. “In the room just now—“ her tongue darts out to lick her lips. “I…he tried to do it again. And for a few seconds, I let him.”

It’s too much. He starts to pull away, feeling stretched thin, but her hand clamps around his wrist to keep him linked to her.

“Jughead, wait! I only did it because I knew it would distract him,” she pleads. God, he wishes he could believe her. And doesn’t he? He brings his free fist to his forehead, shaking his head and trying to block out her words. Scrambling, she tries to keep them together. “But I _knew_ …I _knew_ that it would hurt you, and I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even know where I’m going to _live_. And for some stupid reason I kept trying to _save_ him, to save _us_ , like there was anything to be saved in the first place,” she fumes, tears crinkling at the edges of her eyes. “I don’t know how to save an _us_ , how to keep the _you_ and _me_ amidst this whole…mess.” Her breathing’s heavy now, and hearing her say _us_ referring to Lucas and _us_ referring to him in the next breath just makes his stomach roll with apprehension. God, it’s like he’s just the next item on the menu instead of who they are, who they’ve been meant to be. And even that pisses him off because nothing’s _meant_ to be anything except for Betty Cooper is meant to be _safe_ and even that’s fucked up beyond all reason.

Her fingers move from his face to his collar, voice thick with emotion. “I almost killed him, Jug. I’m not…a murderer. But I almost…”

_This_ he looks up for. The lost, clinging despair in her eyes. Like she can’t bring him down this road with her, as if he hasn’t been trying to catch up this entire time. “Betty,” he says firmly, voice rumbling. “You are not a _bad_ person.”

Her bottom lip trembles in apprehension. “But I—“

“You were trying to escape a potential murderer, someone you loved for a really long time. You’ve…you’ve been trying to protect _me_. Archie. And don’t think for a _second_ that I actually believe you would’ve set out to kill or even _kiss_ Lucas if it wasn’t a last resort, a means to an end.”

“But you deserve someone who doesn't make you _angry_ all the time, someone who—“

Jughead swipes away her protest, latching onto her arm somewhere he knows isn’t bruised. “I want _you_. Neither of us deserves the bullshit that comes attached to us. We deserve the chance to be happy.” His grip slides loosely to her slender wrists, the angry marks from the handcuffs flaking in their quiet fury. “I don’t want this to feel like you’re…tying yourself to me, or being _dragged_ into something you’re not prepared for. I don't feel that way about _you_.” Wrestling with his emotions, he drags his gaze from her reddened wrists to her green eyes, rooted in understanding. “I’m _in_. I know you. I _knew_ you. I want to keep getting to know the person you’re coming out on the other side. I know…what this could be, in an endless array of what could be's, and I still want to travel down this path you. Whether you're ready right now or two months from now.” _Or never_ , he supposes he could add. But he doesn't really want that to be an option.

Betty’s struck dumb by his profession, mouth slung open in confusion. He stares at her with an intensity that he hopes sears the message into her brain. _I want you. Anyway. All the ways._ Might as well go for broke, he thinks, and leans in to kiss her. Not all the way, just ghosting over her mouth, enough to get the tingly scented remnants of strawberries from their brunch. After a moment, her lips close around his. It’s tender, light, and for a horrible second he wonders if it means she just wants to be friends.

As she pulls away, the trepidation is clear on her face. “Jughead…I…feel like you’re too good for me. I don’t why you keep putting up with me. With _this,_ ” she gestures wildly to the hotel, to his arm. “I mean, this isn’t what a relationship is supposed to be. You shouldn't have to be seeking revenge or going to the hospital.”

“Hey,” he insists, tugging her closer. “You’re the one who told me love isn’t always safe. But it should be a hell of a lot safer than this. Do you still like me?”

“Yes,” she blushes, shifting. Normally her admission would be cute, but right now he’s so laser-focused he can’t even smile at it.

“And do you still want to be with me? Pursue this romantically?”

It takes her an extra second to answer that one, withholding the answer until neither of them can stand it anymore. “Yes. But—“ she pauses like she’s expecting him to cut her off. “This isn’t the easy, quiet world of the woods. There are other factors.”

Of course there are. There are a million factors. His fingers pry into her palms, kneading their hands together. He’s so sick of her having to run, to fold up, to put herself through harm for other people. And he’s sick of following her through it, half-expecting a dead body. Not that he’d _stop_. “I know…there’s a lot going on. I’m here if you want me. That’s all I’m gonna say.”

Betty purses her lips, staring at him as Archie’s pulls up. “I do want you. I just…I don’t know how to keep you.” Stunned, Jughead stares at her. What the hell does that mean? Betty bites her lip, embarrassed. “I’ve only had one long-term relationship, and obviously it ended badly.”

“Well, counting _you_ I have been in exactly _one_ relationship,” he muses, bordering on sardonic, especially since she doesn’t seem to be counting _him_. “Long-term because I’ve known you since we were five and loved you on some level ever since. Personally, I think we’re going great. Minus the whole getting shot and being homeless thing.”

Her cheeks flash in an almost-smile before settling into what he asserts is her business mode. “Look, Lucas is going to try to spin some kind of…warped defense. That you corrupted me or the south side tried to hold me hostage and he was coming to rescue me. Basically the opposite of what actually happened,” she sighs, rubbing his wrists. She's starting to sound like a less angry version of his father. “You know my parents, they’ll probably corroborate and say I’m delusional or the Andrews are in part of the conspiracy because Lucas wanted to buy out their house.”

“He wanted to what now?” Archie chimes in, leaning out the window.

Betty rolls her eyes, turning back to Jughead. “The point is, flaunting whatever’s starting between you and me could have…legal repercussions if anyone in Riverdale finds out.” She looks apologetic, harboring definite longing, his ego notes, and he can only imagine the scowling disappointment on his own face just from what’s mirrored on hers. “After the trial, maybe…we’ll figure this all out.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly, squeezing her hand, trying not to let sorrow seep into his pores.

“I love you, Jug,” she murmurs, kissing his cheek, squeezing his hands one more time before climbing into the blue pickup truck. They’ve said “I love you” to each other a million times as kids. They said it at the hotel. But somehow she still doesn’t seem to accept that when he says it, he’s basically giving her an arrow to stick in him anywhere she wants to. Because he trusts Betty Cooper with that privilege.

“Take care of her,” he nods to Archie, tapping on the door.

“Take care, man. Call me if you need anything.”

“Yeah.”

He stands watching his childhood best friends head back to Riverdale with his hands shoved in his pockets. _Fuck_. What he wouldn’t give to actually go on that camping trip right now.

 

* * *

 

The world keeps lurching back and forth, but the light feels _wrong_. “Betty?” he rasps, throat feeling like cement.

A disembodied voice hovers over him, almost muffled, like he’s still half in a dream. _“Dad? He’s waking up.”_

_ “Give him a taste of his own medicine.” _

Lucas tries to sit up, but his head is still ringing, swirling, and his arms don’t feel like his own. A boy with bright blue eyes and a stupid hat peers over at him, ocean blues and wine purples swirling behind him amidst a radiating yellow-orange pulse.

Lucas tries to flutter his eyes open, but the lights feel like they’re prying into him. Is he...glowing? _“Either I’m dead or you’re alive.”_ He’s not sure which he prefers, which is more likely.

The boy’s smile seems grim, but somehow less bloody than his own feels.

_ “Yes.” _

A white cloth smothers his face, infiltrating him with the sick smell of bleach, and blackness swallows him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy this chapter, you know your thoughts feed my dark empty soul after being drained from CERTAIN CHARACTERS WHO SHALL NOT BE NAMED but I love you all. Hopefully you enjoyed Lucas getting beat up, because...now he's in the hands of the Serpents. Mwahahahaha. This is probably the ONE time I'm legit rooting for them. How do we feel about Archie's arguments? FP's? I feel like everyone is telling Bughead "not right now" and I'm like "ehhhhh right now is good for me." Please tell me your thoughts. Mucho love.


	10. Chapter 10

 

The impulse to heave drags Lucas out of the darkness, his body shuddering and expelling something retched to the ground beneath him. Beyond the taste of medicinal bile, Lucas sniffs and blinks as he registers the dull browns and greens against his face.

Spitting, he tries to sit up. Everything in his brain is screaming, falling down some endless pit.

_Betty_.

His gaze shoots up to the jean-clad legs of men wearing leather jackets and sadistic little scowls. The evil boy with the beanie stands just aside one of them.

“And thus I enter Hell,” Lucas mutters, wiping his grimy mouth on the back of his hand. There’s blood mixed into the bile, and the smell makes him dry heave again.

“Not quite,” one of them answers, heavy combat foots sinking into the mud. Something buzzes unpleasantly in Lucas’s stomach. “But you’ll be dragged through it before the night’s end.”

What an empty, pompous threat. Lucas’s parched throat swells in its rawness so all he does is glare at the offenders. There are maybe eight of them standing around him. So what circle is this supposed to be?

Worming his words through the sores in throat, he asks, “What have you done with Betty?”

The one at the front with the scruffy beard and beady pits for eyes squats down in front of him. “Oh, we’re not here for Betty. We’re here for _you_ , boy.” His pointer finger jabs at the air, like he’s marking him in some unholy ceremony. From the leather jackets, Lucas slowly puts together that these ruffians are Serpents.

This…is reality.

He’s fairly certain it is.

“You think you can burn down people’s homes? Shoot them up in the woods? You may not be going away for life, but we’re gonna make sure you remember this for the rest of it.”

A few of them move closer, so Lucas shifts upright. He could’ve sworn his arms were bound earlier, but now they just feel heavy. This vaguely reminds him of when Reggie and his goons had tried to get their “revenge.” Shadows, weighted shadows. And a light streaking across the sky. The first hit is across his face, more of a slap than a punch. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as the thing that had knocked him out, but it's enough to knock the wind out of him.

His tongue prods his lip as he tries to figure out what he still has, what he can use to get away. The handcuffs have been removed. The chloroform. He hadn’t been wearing a belt when he’d confronted Betty, afraid it would just get in the way.

_Betty_.

The name fills him with liquid rage as another hit strikes him in the ribs.

As if sensing he’s emotionally left them, the blows pause. “You distracted by something, boy?” The pit-eyes glare into him. “Right now I’d be focusing on a really heartfelt apology.”

It’s a consideration. Acting. Lying. Begging for his life. These ruffians probably just want to see him squirm, to feel power between their slippery fingers before he escapes and tramples them and their pathetic lives.

“I bet you can’t even muster one. I bet you’ve never been sorry for a thing in your life. For burning down homes, for beating down obstacles, for _ruining lives_. You selfish son of a—“

Something hard knocks him so hard he feels his body bend in a new shape.

“Please,” he wheezes, the first word that comes to mind. “Don’t hurt me.”

“I don’t think I can, boy.” One of the shadows grabs him by his roots and yanks hard enough to force his gaze in the direction of a shadow that seems to melt in and out of focus as the beanie boy. “But he can.”

Lucas swallows bile and watches _Jughead_ cross his arms.

“Come on, Jughead, face this asshole for what he did to you,” a tall one orders. The boy touches his beanie before taking a few hesitant steps closer into the circle of shadows. “Tell him what you did to his girlfriend.”

“Ex…girlfriend,” Jughead mutters, widening his stance. The veins in Lucas’s neck strain against his skin, glaring daggers at the Serpent boy. _I dare you_ , he wants to hiss. If only he had his gun, he’d shoot him again. Maybe stab him through the hands.

Chest vibrating, Lucas strains to rise against the hands of the Serpents entangling around him. “Fiancé.” His smile feels a little bloody as he bares it at them. “Did you run out of things to ruin on the south side?”

Unable to bear the gazes on him, Jughead glares at the ground in front of Lucas’s knees. “I’m not going to talk about Betty like that.”

_Betty_. The name slices against Lucas’s chest nonetheless, a stinging open wound.

“Where is she?” he seethes.

Jughead’s blue eyes slash upwards. “You’re not getting anywhere near her again.”

Scoffing, Lucas spits out more bile, keeping a level eye with his aggressor the entire time. “You think she can stay away from me? Just because you…confused her doesn’t mean that she loves you. She’s not _like_ you, Jughead. She needs me. That innocent pink girl from your childhood grew up with a hunger that you can’t satisfy, can’t even begin to understand.” He runs his tongue along his teeth, finding comfort in the ridges there. “We're the same breed.”

Fear flashes in that weak boy’s eyes, jaw tightening. “She’s nothing like you.”

A laugh puffs out through the dull pain in his nose, his skull. “Are you seriously under that impression? Just because she never shot you doesn’t mean she doesn’t have her own way of fighting for what’s deserved.” It feels like only he can see the gleaming truth sliding just under Betty’s skin, faint blue veins disappearing into fleshy rosy hues. He narrows his gaze on the weakling before him. “I wasn’t _alone_ when I took down Reggie Mantle, when we broke down the Homecoming Court. I’m not the only one encouraging her to watch what she eats, to push herself to greatness. There’s no _saving_ her from me. She _wants_ this. She _takes_ it.” Jughead’s eyes flicker to the matted section of Lucas’s hair. “You think she wouldn’t break you open and feed on your insides?” The blood in his gums recedes to the back of his throat, metallic and bitter. “The only reason she even _thinks_ she wants you is because she’s punishing herself. She’s afraid of how _much_ she wants it. But you don’t know how to slice her like I can, how to make her purr and throb and keen. A boy like you could only ruin a beautiful thing like Betty. Her and I can make each other each other into what we’re meant to be. If we bleed, so be it.”

There’s almost not enough time to shuffle onto his feet before Jughead’s fist collides with his cheek. “Hey! Not the face!” Pit-eyes orders, grabbing a panting, wild Jughead back. The boy lashes out with another haphazard kick to Lucas's ribs. The snaps and curdling of blood and bones _thrums_ inside of him.

“He wants to talk about _bleeding?_ ” Jughead protests, swinging wildly. The associated brutality of the attacks fade into small satisfaction deep within Lucas’s chest. It’s almost inevitable that his wild swings have reopened the bullet wound, that Jughead’s bleeding from this simple baiting and the truth.

The display of recklessness makes Lucas rethink his whole approach to Betty’s retreat from their lifestyle. “Maybe I should’ve let you ruin it on your own,” he muses aloud. “Betty’s intelligent enough. She’d see you for what you are. A snake stuck slithering in a pit, dragging her down with you. It would only be a matter of time before she desires something a bit…smarter. More lethal. And with an infinitely better tongue.” Eyes wide, Jughead struggles forward amidst the sea of shadowed leather with his legs thrashing for vengeance. The circle doesn’t seem to know where to converge when the truth is laid out. The whole “face” comment means that they’re going to at least _try_ to keep him alive. Lucas raises his chin, ready to take another hit. Their time will come.

 

* * *

 

It feels like the whole town’s shifted, gotten heavier by the time they get back. Jughead walks past the yellowed lights of the trailer park with his hands stuffed in his pockets. His bike and his leather are waiting for him, no doubt brought back by one of the Serpents. But there’s no Betty or Archie inside. Just a few chin nods from people nearby.

He should feel elated. Lucas is locked up with a few cracked ribs and bruises. Betty’s safely tucked away at Kevin’s to avoid drawing any extra attention to the Serpents. But it feels like a hollow victory, and he’s not sure why. Maybe because his arm is screaming at him from all the exertion of the day. Maybe because he’s going back to an empty trailer with nothing in the fridge but some eggs. Maybe it’s because now that the immediate threat is taken care of, it’s entirely possible Archie and Betty don’t need him anymore, and he’ll fade back into the south side just like he did before.

Maybe.

 

Half-settled on the couch, Jughead starts at the chime of his phone. Some kind of unknown number. Figuring it’s Serpent business, he answers it. “Hello?”

“Juggie?”

He breathes a sigh of relief, hand going to his forehead to touch his beanie. “Betty. What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

“I’m…” She thinks carefully about the words. It’s stupid of him to ask if she’s all right, but it’s just instinct. “Calling because I wanted to check on you. To wish you a good night.”

Something rumbles in his stomach and he’s not sure if it’s hunger. No one ever just... _checks_ on him. It's kind of weird, nice in a way that makes his tongue dry. “Oh. Yeah. How are you holding up? I bet Keller’s got a better snack selection than we do at the moment.” It’s meant to be a joke, but he can taste the bitterness in his own comment.

His dad’s right. It’s not like they have a place she can really stay. Even if he gave up his twin bed or somehow managed to squeeze both of them on it (and boy does he have suggestions for that scenario), she’d have to transfer schools. Go to Southside High. That’s no school for a girl like Betty, even if she’s strong enough to handle it. She’s too smart for classes where kids literally pretend _not_ to do the homework for street cred. Although they could eat lunch together. Hold hands. Fill out the library, reading and kissing behind the stacks. Maybe he could even take her to the barbecues at the Fogarty trailer.

But Lucas (he hates to admit), was right. She’s just be sliding down if she joined him.

“Kevin’s great,” she says, but it sounds like there’s more. After a beat, she sighs, and spills, “It might sound ridiculous, but I really wish we’d been able to go camping.”

Jughead swings his feet to the floor, needing the sturdiness under him. “Yeah. I know what you mean. In light of everything else that happened, it would’ve been nice…spending some quality time together.” _Just us,_ his mind wants to add, but his mouth doesn’t let it.

“It just would’ve meant a lot to me. Everything you guys did, are doing, means the world to me. I wish I could tell you…”

His heart thumps hard in his chest. “You don’t need to.”

There’s a beat of silence, a breath, and his eyes search for patterns on the dirty floor as if they’ll somehow reveal her face to him.

“That night…when we looked at the stars…and you asked me if I was scared about the future. I guess I was, but I wasn’t. Because laying there with you, I felt like…you would be in it. You’d be there with me, no matter what, and tonight…even though I’m not laying by your side, I’m with you, Jug. I just want you to know that. I know things are messy and beyond insane, but…I’m with you. We’re going to make it out to the other side, right?”

His throat feels like it’s been hollowed, left to dry. “Right.” They sit on that for a minute, and Jughead takes a chance to go to the window to look out at the night sky. There’s a tingling, romantic feeling in his chest that thinks she’s looking out at it too. “I love you, Betty Cooper.”

“…I love you too, Jughead Jones.”

He can hear her smile. A grin nearly breaks his face, his heart. For once, it’s a very good kind of ache that settles in his bones. This is a good night, a very good night for them.

 

* * *

 

Kevin shakes his head at her over the breakfast table. “What?” Betty blushes, pushing eggs onto a plate.

“You’re thinking about Jughead, aren’t you?” Kevin has an almost supernatural sense for romantic drama. “Mr. Burgers, Books, and Betty.”

“Yes.” She beams at her plate, thinking the eggs look particularly optimistic today. “We said _I love you_ to each other last night.” At Kevin’s bewilderment, she overcorrects. “We’ve said it before, as kids, but I think…I don’t know…I think we really mean it this time. Like, we’re _in_ love.”

“Betty.” Kevin jabs a fork in her general direction. She wrinkles her nose at it, not sure how old the fruit at the end of his spear is. “Your ex-fiancé was literally picked up last night for kidnapping charges. You broke up last week. How is it possible you’ve already got someone _in love_?” His eyebrows are particularly dubious, and Betty’d resent them if she wasn’t so surprised herself.

“I don’t know. I guess he’s always kinda had a thing for me, and during the whole Lucas debacle…we connected.” The giddy shrug she offers can’t be helped. Kevin softens momentarily, but then seems to snap out of it.

“First of all, as my indefinite houseguest you owe me details. But secondly,” his face twists into something sympathetic, like she’s being a little naive. “Are you sure you’re not falling so hard just because you need something good in your life right now?” The suggestion slaps her like the side of a dull knife. “I know you’ve got a lot going on with your parents, and Lucas, and now the trial, are you sure—?”

“I wouldn’t _use_ Jughead like that.”

Cowed, Kevin shrinks back to his breakfast. “I know. Not…intentionally. I’m just wondering. Heaven knows I’ve built up a fantasy to escape some gray realities before. How often have you heard me say that Moose is gonna come out of the closet for _me_?” He stabs another piece of fruit halfheartedly. “I’m just saying… _love_ …is a lot for a week. Even if it has been building up for a lifetime.”

Simmering, she doesn’t offer anything else. Rolling his eyes, Kevin relaxes. “Okay. Start from the beginning. When did you first think that he liked you?”

 

* * *

 

The weary sheriff marks a sheet of paper in front of him like it’s taking energy out of him just to go through this list, whereas Lucas is literally struggling to maintain a neutral facade while breathing against the pain in his ribs. “So we have you for attempted arson, breaking and entering, assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder, attempted kidnapping, and aggravated assault. Am I missing anything?”

“Proof,” Lucas states. 

The sheriff’s green eyes narrow on him in something akin to disbelief. They’re entirely the wrong shade, weak like peppermint toothpaste instead of strong like the emeralds or jade of one girl he’s loathe to admit he still wants.

Lucas spins the rings on his fingers to help him ignore the dull aches and pains from Serpent bites. “I’ve been set up by that Serpent gang from the south side of town. I have it on good authority that they’re just trying to get even for my assistance with the Coopers uncovering their seedy underhanded dealings. Jughead Jones and his crew kidnapped and brutalized _me_ to try and keep Betty Cooper for himself. Why aren’t they in custody?”

“Well, son,” Lucas tries not to flinch at the term of endearment. “They claim most of your injuries were sustained while you were trying to escape after attempting to assault your ex-girlfriend.” 

“ _Fiancé.”_

Lucas flexes his fists as Sheriff Keller leans forward, studying him carefully like they’e in some kind of old Western. “If things shook out different, we’ll take care of it. But right now we’re looking at you.”

Cheeks warming, Lucas glances at the exit. “I demand to speak to my lawyer. My father.”

Sheriff Keller looks momentarily at a loss.

“What?” he snaps.

“That won’t be possible. Your father is…a witness. We’re still getting his deposition.” Almost apologetic, Keller shuffles a few papers in front of him.

Reality seems to be just off to the side somewhere. Lucas’s face twitches with an expression, but he isn’t sure which one. If his father can’t be involved, then he’ll just have to represent himself. He doesn’t trust some random lawyer from the sticks to do himself justice. His father’s only been a half-reliable ally as it is. “You’re…seriously taking me to trial?” At Keller’s throat clear, Lucas runs a nervous hand through his hair. “That… _criminal_ …is going free, and I’m bruised and thrown in jail? For defending myself? For trying to get my girlfriend back?”

“It’s the, uh, manner of your actions that the law has an issue with, son.”

The steady two-pump of his heart throbs in his chest. Pressing his lips thin, Lucas glares hard at the poorly lit desk between them. “Am I free to go tonight?”

“I’m afraid not. And also…” Sheriff Keller presents him with an official-looking stack of papers with “Restraining Order” written across the top. “This is for Forscythe “Jughead” Jones, and Elizabeth “Betty” Cooper. Obviously you’ll have to be around them during the trail, but other than that, you will not be allowed within within a hundred feet of them. As there are only two high schools, both of which are small and occupied by these folks, I recommend you take up home study.”

“So I’m also expelled?” he balks, outraged.

Keller shrugs. “Sorry, son. Until this is all sorted out, you’re under lock and key.”

Something screeches in his ears but he can barely hear it, brain already tumbling with thoughts of how he can get out of this…this cacophony of chaos. Of injustice. Of _Riverdale_.

 

* * *

 

Unsure where to look, Betty knits her nails into her bandaged palms and stares at them. Since half the town has been called in as character witnesses, no one’s really _there_ at her side the way she’s anticipated. There’s no hiss of her mother in her ear, the low steadiness of her father. Not even the judgmental whispers of Kevin or the dry asides of Jughead. Just the slick sound of leather shoes on the wooden floors. What she wouldn’t give to hold someone’s hand, to earn a smile. But almost everyone’s on the witness list (a witness to her horror, her failure, her misjudgment), and Sheriff Keller’s considered “too close” to the case to reign over it. So Betty tries not to look up at one of the only familiar faces in the room even though she can feel its heat. Lucas’s eyes burn into the side of her face, even from her peripheral. He seems to have cooled _considerably_ since their impassioned struggle in the hotel room. Maybe she’d beaten sense into him. The bruise on his cheek from what she assumes is her elbow is an angry wound in contrast with his stoic face, but she doesn’t remember drawing blood there.

It hardly comes as a surprise when he pleads, a fake little wobble at the edge of his voice, “Not guilty. Not guilty of anything but being in love, your honor.”

The words whirl in her ears, blood thrumming a panicked rhythm.

She _almost_ crumbles, but she manages to halt her gaze before it fully lands on his bruised face. The depositions are torturous, endless, and it takes every ounce of resolve to keep a steady train of thought when she can hear Lucas’s rings tingling against each other. It feels like this should be impossible. That the boy across the table couldn’t possibly be the one she’d offered to join the Blue and Gold, the one who tried to suffocate her in her hotel room. But it’s not like she’s the same girl anymore either. People look at both of them from the stand like they’re strangers, or an abstract representation of what they used to be. The golden couple. She wonders who she’ll be by the time this is all over.

 

* * *

 

The parade of character witnesses should wear him down, but his pleas and confidence never seem to wane.

Reggie details his ruthless ambition, the box cutter that nearly ended his athletic career and life. “I was seeking justice against a known criminal who’d threatened our livelihood, who quite literally attacked us,” Lucas insists. “My girlfriend was in danger. It was entirely self-defense.”

Archie, the golden child, provides evidence of threats, intimidation, and controlling behavior. Sighing, Lucas details, “With all due respect, he was skewed by his own personal investment in Betty Cooper. What kind of concerned neighbor tries to film her with her boyfriend through her bedroom window? Especially in an intimate setting of her getting dressed? His text messages detail long-term ambition to break us up, which often served as a point of contention between the three of us and directly contributed to the emotional distress brought to both of us in recent weeks.”

Ethel glowers from the stand, crossing her arms in front her chest. “When I asked if him and Betty broke up, he told me to shove my headband down my throat and choke on it.”

Lucas’s mouth twitches in annoyance, then he lets out a half-embarrassed breath. “Ethel’s always been jealous of Betty and I. Not only for _obvious_ reasons,” he begins, Ethel flushing furiously, “But because she used to be considered one of the smartest people in the school. When Betty and I staked out that claim, she got a little…vindictive…tried to rub salt in the proverbial wound. I’m not surprised she’d try to wedge either or both of us out of the picture.”

Even Dilton Doiley coolly takes the stand. “I’m not a jealous man, but I can say with absolute certainty that Lucas Ward is as ruthless as he is ambitious. He has shown no interest in furthering any interests outside of his own. I asked him, as an Eagle Scout, if he’d be interested in assisting tutor the next generation of scouts and the only thing he insisted on was proving that he could get with the best girl in school.” Betty flushes at that one, ducking her chin at the unemotional reveal. “Lucas Ward is a selfish, intelligent, tool of mass destruction, and I would not be surprised at any methods he used to stay that way.”

Glowering, Lucas’s smile twitches just the tiniest bit. “Always on about those Eagle Scouts and destruction, aren’t we Dilton?” Unfazed, Dilton nods. “What would you know about survival? Wasn’t it you who told me that I’d _regret_ not helping with the scouts, that I’d be distracted by focusing on my pursuit of Betty Cooper?” Lucas’s arms tremble against his desk. “Are you sure your testimony is unbiased, or is it revenge for rebuffing your values? Furthermore, you often support the use of firearms and self-defense for your young trainees and take their well-being into your own hands. Wouldn’t you say there’s a strong similarity between that protective nature and the character of which you’re attempting to paint here?”

So the testimonies go on, and Lucas’s rebuttals. Mr. Butler’s _grooming_ habits, jealousy over Lucas’s intellectual prowess and trajectory.

The Serpents’ testimonies are certainly taken with a grain of salt, but Thomas Topaz is so old and frail that it’s hard for anyone to disbelieve when he says that Jughead’s always been very polite and the Lucas fellow was a bit contrite when asking for his trailer. Still, it’s not the worst thing he could say, so Lucas simply shrugs it off as the man being _old_ and possibly misremembering his tone and presence, which is only a matter of opinion.

The rest of them collaborate his threatening visit to the drive-in, and of course Jughead’s testimony of the later shooting. Betty’s fingers tremble in her lap but she maintains her Cooper stiff upper lip throughout the replay of events. Lucas barely cares about any of them, spitting venom out just as easily as they did. They have no _proof_. They don’t have his original gun used to shoot Jughead.

When Betty’s parents take the stand, Lucas relaxes in his seat. Hal is fairly noncommittal, not pleased about the whole elopement aspect of recent events, insisting that children make mistakes, and they have to pay for those mistakes. Alice is downright savage. “From what we saw, Lucas was the perfect boyfriend. He always took great care of Betty, paid attention in school, politely socialized with prominent town figures. He was a very attentive boyfriend. An absolute gentleman who always volunteered for articles and help out when needed. He kept her _focused_ , but the last few weeks we all saw her losing sight of things. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was being intimidated or brainwashed by the cult of gang-bangers. While I do think the methods to get her back were excessive, they weren’t necessarily uncalled for.” She reluctantly agrees that he’d stolen Betty’s birth records, but she would’ve given them her blessing had she been present. They reinforce everything. That the Serpents and Archie poisoned their daughter against her better interests, against _them_.

“My parents, although they love me,” Betty starts, voice trembling. “Have never cared when someone hurts me, haven’t even realized when they do it themselves. Not when girls said I was too fat to join the cheerleading team. Not when my sister couldn’t bear the pressure of this image of perfection and left us. Not when they lied to me and said she never wanted to see me again. Not even when I’d hurt myself.” Her parents shift uncomfortably. Alice looks like she’s ready to object, but Betty continues on with her well-thought-out speech. “The only thing that takes their notice is when something doesn’t fit in with their perfect image. It’s not surprising that they never noticed that someone who fits in with their idea of a model citizen would emotionally and later physically abuse their daughter. I trusted Lucas because on paper he was everything I could ever want. He understood pain. He understood hurting, and he used it against me, just like he’s trying to use prejudice in his favor now. My parents have a history with the Southside Serpents. An unpleasant one. And while I’m sure there are reasons for that animosity, I can assure the court that the Serpents as a whole took no interest in or against my relationship until Lucas tried to burn down their homes for the simple act of helping me with an article I hadn’t run by him first. Lucas…was an attentive boyfriend. An amazing student of life and love. Of manipulation and abuse. Of law. Of punishment. I have to trust that the court will take into account his past behavior and consider the future terror he might be able to inflict on any community that doesn’t crush itself to fit his image and better his lifestyle.”

The audience sits in awed silence for a few moments, and Betty swears she could hear the distant echo of clapping from the hall. It’s probably just her imagination, but she feels a little better all the same.

 

Mr. Ward is the wild card. He gets up on the stand, sweating, eyes darting around the court. He rambles with the same casual anxiousness of a man who doesn’t like to fly waiting for takeoff in a plane. “As far as I know, Lucas was never a better man than when he was with Betty.” When pressed for the barometer of Lucas’s _goodness_ , Mr. Ward visibly tenses. “You know what I mean. He’s a smart kid. He’s…” his eyes dart to his son, who’s frowning and watching him with a pale intensity that probably sets his hairs on end. “Driven. That doesn’t always make it easy for him to make friends. Betty kind of…introduced him to that.”

“To caring about people?”

He plucks at his collar. “Sure, you could say that.”

The investigation goes on, the court wondering, “So what do you anticipate your son will be like now, without Betty at his side?”

“I…” Mr. Ward sweats so profusely that even the judge asks if he needs some water. His words fumble, gaze lost as he keeps an eye on the swirling pleading eyes of the girl from the stands. His body shivers under the hard glacier daggers emanating from the defendant.

“Are you afraid of your son, Mr. Ward? Without Betty as his tether to humanity and compassion? Is that why you assisted in her kidnapping in the plot to force her into elopement?”

Leaning back, he swipes his palms on his pants. “As far as either of us knew, that was consensual.”

The prosecutor refers to footage from the hotel lobby where Mr. Ward helps his son sneak the dazed, clearly wrecked girl into their room. “Is it often the case for a consensual member in a relationship to be brought in, wrists raw and bleeding from handcuffs, visibly distressed?”

“I thought…it was something they were into. Lucas can be intense. Betty must be too. I know her sister has a history of a home, so I figured maybe…she needed restraints.” Mr. Ward shifts in his seat, trying to look for a window or door. Betty straightens in her seat, incensed.

“Weren’t you the one who chased Betty down and threatened her with a weapon when she tried to leave?”

“I…thought she ought to know all of her options.”

“Leave and die or stay and be forced into a marriage with an abusive partner?”

“He wouldn’t _always_ abuse her.”

There’s a small gasp from the judge and bailiff, enough to let Mr. Ward know that he made a mistake. Lucas vibrates in frustration from his seat while Betty raises her chin as if daring him to strike at her character again. The hits on both sides just kept coming.

 

* * *

 

 

The jangling of keys and boots adds a little extra pep to Betty’s step, Kevin striding straight-backed and alert next to her. Her ex, _the_ ex, won’t be here. He’s still locked away and handcuffed in some back room while the trial continues. Part of her still feels like she should be visiting him since no one else will, apparently not even his father. But that’s insane. This whole thing is insane. Mr. Ward’s testimony has been linked to dozens of other cases, and he still keeps telling Keller and the jury, “But with Betty it’s different. There’s _hope_. There’s…something close to love there.” As if that’s supposed to change that whatever they had was sick, is over. Even still, her heart beats manically in her chest, her smile tight on her cheeks when she catches Sheriff Keller’s wary eye.

“Follow me,” Kevin’s father says, glancing both ways down the hall before pulling them in. He seems to hesitate at the door, deciding to let Kevin in. They’re in his office, usually used for interrogations. The camera is on, an impartial, glaring lens in the corner. But she’s already given her deposition. The red light blinks warningly at her.

“We, um…we have a situation on our hands,” he mutters, wiping his face with one hand.

She straightens in the uncomfortable ungiving chair. “What’s going on?”

“Mr. Ward committed suicide.”

Something plummets in her stomach, acid surprise wrestling with her innards. He was a key source of testimony for them, and Lucas’s _father_. Even without being on speaking terms with her own parents, she can only imagine the devastation their demise would bring her.

“Oh my god.” Kevin blinks in surprise, mouth falling open and clamping shut before he regains enough sense to reach over and squeeze Betty’s wrist.

“He was pretty shaken up after the testimony yesterday, said he felt guilty for all the harm he let happen, and now that he knew you wouldn’t love Lucas there wasn’t any hope for him either. Didn’t want this to keep happening, especially when you’d given it your all. Said he didn’t want you to get stuck covering up Lucas’s messes like he did.”

“So…he _killed_ himself?” she clarifies, still grasping at the situation. Is that what life with Lucas would’ve driven _her_ to? Tampering with and withholding evidence? Assisting kidnapping? Worse self-harm than digging into her palms? Just…hopelessness?

Sheriff Keller looks abashed from under the brim of his hat. “He gave us all of Lucas’s records of past misdeeds. Kept them like trophies, reminders of wins alongside chess club ribbons. We have enough to put Lucas away for years. He also…he left everything to you.”

Confused, Betty feels like emotions are tumbling and breaking inside of her. Bubbles rising and popping on her insides, shining with the reflections of his words. _Suicide_. _Everything_. _Years_.

“I don’t…what about Lucas?”

Clearing his throat, Keller glances at his son. “Cut him out.”

Trembling, Betty reaches for an awestruck Kevin’s hand. “You’re saying that Mr. Ward turned in more evidence, Lucas is going away for good, and…Mr. Ward left all of his money and possessions…to Betty?”

Sheriff Keller’s pen slots neatly from the desk. “Correct. The jury will still decide tomorrow if Lucas is guilty as far as domestic abuse in your case, but he’s going to jail regardless.”

She covers her mouth to try and hold herself together as little sobs crawl out of her throat. This nightmare is finally going to end. Kevin wraps his arm through hers for solidarity, nodding at his dad incredulously. “This is just like a soap opera. I’m half expecting some long-lost twin brother to show up and fight for this.”

Sheriff Keller looks a little apologetic for his son’s callousness. Betty knows it comes with the territory of hearing about misdeeds every single day, and he’s _here_ , so there’s no way she’d be mad at him. “Although you’re welcome to stay with us, you do now technically _own_ the Ward residence. I know you’re still a minor, so your mom and dad may want you to move back with them. I just thought you should know. Besides our place, you always have somewhere to go.”

A fear that had been gnawing in her chest…of being _trapped_ … _again_ …loosens. She thinks of Jughead, of when they watched _Psycho_ in the bed of Archie’s truck, his arms wrapped around her and they looked at the stars wondering if and how they could ever escape.

They could do it now.

She was free.

 

* * *

 

They have to say _not guilty_. They have to, he reasons numbly. His father just committed suicide and betrayed him, giving everything to his girl. To Betty. They could still get married. Still share it all. Still go to Harvard in a few years, once she’s had time to get over it all and he’s destroyed the evidence in claims.

“We find the defendant…guilty.”

The world shatters and screams around him, but he can’t even find it in himself to be angry. Just…dumbfounded that people could be that stupid.

“That’s wrong,” he says. “I loved her. It isn’t fair. I protected her…and _they…_ and _she_ …”

Hands are on him again, flashing back to the scenes of the shadows. His light looks upon him with pity. But where the hell is his sympathy?! “Betty!” he screams. But only her parents stand in alarm. “You can’t do this to me!” His light flinches, but doesn’t come for him. Not this time.

The shrill ringing in his head reaches a pitch to shatter glass as the shadows drag him further into darkness.

  

* * *

 

 

Feeling awkward as hell, Jughead shoves a hand in his pocket and awkwardly salutes with the other, fully aware of how weird he must look loitering on the courthouse steps in a blazer and jeans. “Hey.”

The blonde bundled in a sweet lilac dress visibly shifts into relief, managing a smile despite the intensity of the day. It's already worth ditching school today just to be here right when she gets out. “Hey.” Padding carefully down the last of the steps, Betty leans forward on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. He feels a fluttering sort of ecstasy wriggle through him.

“So, how’d it go?”

“Guilty.” Her ponytail nods along with her satisfaction, like she expected it. But he didn't. He knows how easily the town would’ve gobbled up Lucas’s lies about the Serpents. The past week of parading character witnesses and testimonial gossip just-barely whiffed from his perch at Pop’s was driving him _mad_. It’s insane that she’s still doing her homework at night, but whenever he asks about it she says she needs something to keep busy.

Hopefully… _they_ can be that something a little more often now.

His fingers hesitantly curl around her elbow, encouraging her to stay close. “So…”

Rubbing his arm, she looks hopefully but decidedly into his eyes. “Do you want to get some Pop’s? I feel like celebrating.”

_God yes,_ he wants to mutter filthily in her ear. But they’re in public, and this is still new, so he swallows the impulse and says, “Of course. I never say no to Pop’s.”

As they turn, she hesitates, grabbing his hand. “I think we should invite Kevin and Archie too.” _Oh._ Although he’s not overjoyed at the prospect of being lumped in with _the boys_ , he takes a deep breath to steel himself and agree. Her big green eyes bore into him, melting whatever lame inferiority complex is going on in his head. “Just…they helped me a lot too. Then after, I was thinking you and I could have dessert. At…at the house I got.”

_The Ward house_? he wants to ask, but he won’t. It’s still surreal, and she’s offering… _something_ to him. Now that she has everything, he’s not even sure what's going to keep them together. The inheritance makes him uncomfortable in a way that the insanity of the past week hasn't allowed time to unknot. Still, he’ll hold her hand while he can, until she lets go.

“Betty!”

His girl stiffens aside him. Even Jughead feels the rumble of the oncoming storm of Alice Cooper in a skirt-suit with a disgruntled-looking Hal behind her.

Jughead feels all the muscles in his arm tense as he straightens to put himself between them.

Alice licks her lips, squaring her shoulders whilst simultaneously nerving herself to look in her daughter’s eye. In an eye-roll-worthy sort of way, Jughead’s almost grateful to be ignored. “I’m guessing…that boy was found guilty.”

Voice clipped, almost sarcastic, she says, “Yes, mother.”

“I heard about the handcuffs from one of our reporters. He…he hurt you. And I’m sorry, Betty. I’m sorry that he hurt you, and I’m sorry we didn’t see…that we didn’t stop it. I thought things were different.”

“Yeah. So did I.”

Smoothing her jacket, Alice tilts her chin up. “So now that’s all over with, are you coming home with us?”

Jughead nearly balks as hard as Betty does, her eyebrows arching expertly. “Are you serious? No! You just stood trial for my abusive ex-boyfriend, I’m not going to run home the second you apologize. I realize you may not have had all the facts, but you had _enough_. You had _me_.” Her fingers tighten around Jughead’s, and he can’t help but snap his attention firmly to her face, the way her neck moves when she swallows. He wants to push her mother away, to hug Betty until the tension in her melts away and she’s smiling and boneless and bright.

“Betty, I—“

“No, Mom. Tonight was a really big win for me. People _believed_ in me, and as someone who wasn’t aways on that train, I’m going to have to ask that you leave, and let me have this for a little while longer.”

Eyes glazed with what he assumes are disbelieving tears, Alice declares, “I’m your _mother_. This can’t just _blow over_ in a few days spent at the Sheriff’s house. I will knock his door down before I let you abandon us over something like  _misinformation_. Your father and I want to work on this—our family, rebuild our—“

“Leave her alone,” Jughead snaps, pushing his shoulder between them. Betty slides in at his side, her tension giving him strength. “Betty will put herself back together after the horrors you and that psycho put her through. She'll talk to you _if_ and _when_ she's ready. Tonight, we celebrate.”

Shocked, Alice leans back on one foot and swallows thickly. “Betty…”

The square figure of Hal finally comes into frame again, hand on his wife’s arm to draw her back. His face is a mask of mechanical cordialness weirdly reminiscent of a dopier, less intense and angry version of Lucas. Maybe it’s just the whole _fake_ thing that’s left a bitter taste in his mouth. Looking at the pensive girl beside him, Jughead wonders if he’ll ever stop trying to protect her. Probably not. Hal’s voice is as nonthreatening as possible. “Betty, we’re _so_ glad that you’re safe and that the truth is getting out there. Would you do us the honor of having dinner with us next Friday night?”

Cautious, she clings closer, wrapping other her hand into the nook of his elbow. “I’ll think about it.” At Alice’s inhale for another round of tirades, Jughead leans forward, ready to snap. Betty tugs him back and instantly amends, “Yes. But I might bring a guest.”

_Well, fuck._

He isn’t even sure if it’s him, but that can’t be a good idea.

Smile somewhere in the realm of a squint, Hal bows away. “As you wish. Come on, Alice. She’s had a long day. Let’s go work on this article and get the facts straight.”

Looking reluctant, Alice’s lips twist into a slant.

Betty scuffs the pavement on the courthouse steps. “I’ll be fine, Mom.”

Sniffing, Alice nods. “We’re glad you’re safe.”

She leans in, Jughead flinching when the mop of hairsprayed blonde hair whooshes past him to hug her daughter. “I love you, Betty,” he hears her whisper wetly, and it makes him feel kind of tingly-sick. Like watching a pig walk on its hind legs. It’s not _wrong_ , it’s just not _right_.

Betty just taps her mother’s back with one hand, the other still firmly entwined in Jughead’s as she looks off in the distance over her mother’s shoulder. “I know. I’ll see you next week.”

_I know_ , he repeats ironically. Even he gets better than the downgraded Han Solo response.

Alice disentangles herself and swivels sharply to storm back off with her husband in search of a scoop. Jughead waits a few seconds for the clatter of pumps to clear before he faces a drained-looking Betty.

“So. You need a hug?”

“Desperately,” she nods, and he’s happy to oblige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for super accurate small-town court proceedings *cough* That's a real cough, by the way. I'm sick. [Insert Mean Girls and/or Zoolander joke here.] SO. Lucas is in jail/juvie for the cajillion things he's implicated for. I know we're all satisfied, but not QUITE satisfied enough if you know what I'm sayin'. Bughead has some UNFINISHED BUSINESS that involves hand-holding and other things they've been working towards. Who else is super stoked Mr. Ward had a guilty and weak conscious and gave everything to Betty? How are we feeling? Good? Anxious? Ready to pelt the Coopers with eggs? Give hugs and kisses and french fries to our love birds? Lemme know <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betty and Jughead finally have somewhere private to celebrate the court ruling. Presume what you will about what shall commence.

The bell above Pop’s tingles with their arrival. Jughead feels debonair and suave with the blazer tightening on his arm as he holds out the door for his “girlfriend.” Even without the talk of labels, Betty’s basically been cemented as his leading lady ever since the night at the drive-in, and he wants to treat her that way. They always say to dress for the role you want. The blazers won’t stick around, but the tenderness is here to stay. Even if her last boyfriend hadn’t been a total shitbag, Betty deserves the finest manners Jughead can muster from what he’s seen in movies and feels in his heart.

His stomach briefly flutters at the small smile she offers when squeezing by him in the doorway. With light, breezy steps, she slides into an empty booth. She probably doesn’t even realize it’s the one he saw her standing in with that guy months ago, before they were reunited. But if she can push away the previous life where her eyes were tired and glassy for a completely different reason in what feels like another life, he’ll make an effort to do the same.

It absolutely tickles him that she slides in to the far side of the booth, clearly so he’ll sit next to her. He slags the blazer off as he follows her in. Always tuned in to being helpful, she helps him fold it neatly and places it on the inside of the booth so it doesn’t fall out. With a deep, satisfied sigh, he puts his arm around her. Who’d have thought this was even a possibility a few months ago? A few _weeks_ ago? 

His thighs spread more than usual of their own accord. _Manspreading_ or whatever the hell it’s called isn’t usually a thing for him, and he has a sneaking suspicion it has more to do with making sure his thighs touch Betty Cooper’s than anything else. They have a few more minutes to chat before Archie and Kevin arrive straight from school, messenger bags and all.

“Betty!” Archie beams. “We heard the amazing news.”

“Yeah! I’m a free woman,” she smiles, jostling Jughead a little bit to urge him out of the booth. He scrambles, limbs tangled in an attempt to stay connected to her. Ultimately, one hand lingers on her lower back as she stands to hug her friends. Archie squeezes her tightly, eyes shut, like he’s so happy he could lift her in the air. A twinge of guilty jealousy thrums in Jughead’s veins but he blushes and looks away before it becomes anything else.

Scooting back into the booth, Betty smooths her dress under her thighs. “Now before we get too involved, I have to call V.”

“For Vendetta?” Kevin asks, eyebrow quirked.

“Veronica,” she explains mildly, “The girl who helped me—“

Kevin’s face melts into recognition. “Ohhhhh the mafioso’s daughter. Got it.”

They order quickly, Betty carefully dialing and propping up her phone so everyone can see. The excited focus she has is endearing, and Jughead doesn’t even notice when Veronica answers the video chat request because he’s entranced in tracing his thumb on Betty’s shoulder.

“Good news, V. He’s guilty.”

In an exuberant noise Jughead vaguely registers as _squeeing_ , the girl congratulates Betty on her newfound freedom. “And you’re coming to visit me in New York, aren’t you?” she clarifies. “We have to celebrate in style!”

“Well Pop’s _is_ the height of Riverdale sophistication,” Kevin drones, rolling his eyes.

“And you are?” Veronica asks, curiosity piqued.

Somehow his cheekbones look more chiseled and smug than they did a second ago. “Kevin Keller. One of Betty’s best friends and personal heroes.”

“Oooh part of the _mantourage_.”

“He’s gay,” Archie quickly chimes in, leaning forward in the booth with an urgent smile at the camera. “Hi, Ronnie.”

“Hi, handsome.”

The flirting is so blatant that even Jughead has to roll his eyes amidst the pointed looks between Betty and Kevin.

Archie looks beyond hopeful as he thrums his fingers on the table, basking at the girl on the screen. “So…do you think you’ll be able to come down to visit Betty? Now that she’s got a house, there’s definitely a place you could stay. I mean, even my house if—“

“Of course we’ll come visit you, and you’re welcome any time here,” Betty interjects, saving them all from the embarrassment of watching Archie attempt to woo a girl on an eight-inch screen. Her fingers clamp onto Jughead’s thigh under the table, his spine straightening at the sensation. “We couldn’t have done this without you. All of you.” Betty turns, a soft smile for each of her friends. Jughead’s heart swells when her gaze lingers on him, thumb tracing his knee reassuringly. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you. But I’m going to try.” She places both of her hands out on the table, worrying them in an effort to distract herself, whether from touching him or curling into herself was still a mystery.

“Betty, you don’t _owe_ us anything,” Kevin reasons, neck leaning low over the table as he reaches for her hand. “We’re your friends, and we’re here for you.”

“Yeah. You would’ve done the same for us. We want to look out for you,” Archie adds, taking her other hand.

“Always,” Jughead insists. Since her hands are taken, Jughead squeezes her shoulder close and presses a firm kiss to the smooth skin of her forehead. Giggling lightly, she turns her smile into him. It’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“Awwww, you guys,” Veronica coos, hand over her heart. “I want to be there for this! Betty, you owe me some hand-holding and forehead kisses when I get there.”

“Deal,” she grins, squeezing everyone she’s connected to, even nudging Jughead a little.

“So,” Kevin leans forward, pulling on her hand like it’s a telephone he wants to bring to his ear. “Tell us about the final day of proceedings.”

Jughead leans back and listens as Betty regales them with the tale. A low hum of anxious satisfaction tingles in his stomach, only vaguely quieted with the addition of french fries and a burger from the most delicious restaurant in town. It feels safe here. Finally.

They’re safe.

 

* * *

 

Shivering in anticipation, Betty pushes open the door and steps inside the Ward house. It’s nice and clean and although she’d tearfully put away anything that directly reminded her of Lucas, it’s still _weird_ here. A place of her own, but not _quite_ her own yet.

Jughead follows her, neck craned curiously as he takes it all in. “So…nice house.”

“Yeah.” She bites her lip. She’s barely been inside his trailer. It’s been risky to frolic on the south side or anywhere suspect with the court proceedings going on. When they’ve talked, it’s been in the projection booth or Pop’s or even after school at Riverdale High because apparently Southside High is _not_ after-school friendly. Even Archie’s house was out due to proximity to her parents.

They finally have somewhere… _private_.

Stiffening in realization that this place is _hers_ now, she switches to hospitality mode. “Oh! I’m sorry, can I take your coat? Would you like a drink? I think there’s water—“

“Betty,” he smiles, eyes twinkling in fondness as he traces his fingers across her cheek. “You don’t have to do anything. I’m fine.”

That’s right. He’s not…

He’s Jughead.

A stretching tug of longing furrows out her chest, and Betty leans upwards to sate it with a kiss. Jughead catches her, one hand caressing her neck as the other finds purchase along her side. She kisses him again with an intensity that she can feel building up inside of her.

“Betty,” he breathes, breaking away and smiling. Is he teasing her? She has half a mind to smack him for it. “What was that for?”

“I wanted to.” Needing to burrow her teeth in _something_ , she finds purchase on her own lower lip. “Is that okay?”

“ _More_ than okay,” he concedes, his hand sliding further along her back, dipping to the point she almost wonders if he’s going to grab her ass. “How about we sit down for a minute?”

“Oh.” She settles back off of her tippy-toes and nods, trying not to betray her disappointment. “Okay.”

His fingers have been leaving trails of yearning along her skin _all night_ and she really just wants to crawl on top of him and lose herself in it. But this is okay too.

They sit next to each other, Betty resisting the urge to primly cross her ankles and put her hands on her knees, the way her mother would want her to. Jughead leaves his blazer and beanie to the side and props his elbow up on the back of the couch, one hand nestled against his beanie as he looks at her. “So. How are you feeling?”

“ _Fine_ ,” she smiles coyly, hoping that the effect of looking at him over her shoulder will re-inspire some skin-on-skin contact.

But his eyes aren’t lighting up the way they should be. “No, really, Betty. How are you?”

His concern, while endearing, is putting a damper on her mood. Sighing, she releases the impulse to flirt or seduce him and leans back into the couch without pretense. “I’m fine. Exhausted, but…” her eyes flicker over him, searching for the word. “Relieved. This whole thing…I’m glad it’s over.” He’s still watching her, waiting for her to go on, really _listening_. It feels weirdly disconcerting and comforting at the same time. “I know I should be grieving for everything I’ve lost, and in some ways I have, but honestly, I’ve decided to look at this as a way to make a new beginning. A way for Riverdale to heal some long-open wounds. My own, too.” Her fingers absently curl into her palms, just the tips, to trace the memories there. Jughead’s fingers instantly twine in hers, concern written on his face.

“I just want you to know that I’m here for you.”

“I know, Jug,” she smiles, as if there was ever any doubt.

“I just…” he hesitates, mouth hanging open as if the words might escape him anyway. “I want to make sure we aren’t going too fast. Or…that this is something _else_. Like, a way to get over it. I mean, I’d understand if it was. I wasn’t even the one in trial and _I_ was feeling lonely this week.” His fingers absently trail into an unruly wisp of hair by her ear, and the intimacy of the gesture makes her veins vibrate.

“You missed me?” she asks, hopeful. Jughead shoots her a look, like, _obviously,_ and, _don’t make me say it_. Biting on her smile, she can’t help but prod, “Didn’t Sweet Pea and Fangs keep you company?”

“If you count making _whipped_ comments and flicking paper footballs at me in class as keeping me company, yes.”

Giggling, she shifts to face him more fully, embracing the warmth of his palm against her jaw. He smiles back wryly, just a hint of a gleam in his eye before he settles his gaze back on her lips. His expression darkens, more in seriousness than lust, and it makes her want to clench her fists again.

“What are you afraid of?” she asks, so quietly he probably wouldn’t be able to hear if they weren’t pressed right against each other.

Brow furrowing, he looks even more intense. “I’m still worried this isn’t _real_ for you. Because it’s so unreal for me, too.”

“Juggie,” she breathes, hand immediately smoothing his cheek.

They shift, pulling each other closer as he tries to find the words he needs. Has he always felt this…adrift? He looks guilty for even mentioning it. “What about you? I mean, I’m worried that you might be trying to _prove_ something to yourself. That you can love again.”

“Juggie,” she frowns, tugging his cheek more insistently this time.

“Betty, I’m just…I love you so much…and I—“

“ _Jug_.”

That finally silences him, his blue eyes warily, longingly searching her own.

“I know what it’s like to love with rose-colored glasses on. To _hope_ that someone loves you instead of _knowing_ that they do.” For a moment, she’s not even sure who she’s talking about. Her parents? Her ex? Archie, to some extent? But there’s a boy’s face under her fingertips, one that clears the other ones away. A boy she knows deep in her bones will try to make her feel _known_ , to feel _loved,_ no matter her size or shape or mental state. It’s different than friendship. A deep kinship that pools deep in her gut, a desire to share every bit of herself with him and watch his eyes alight in glee. To learn every one of his smiles, to earn them. To burrow together, to grow, to be…safe and passionate all at once.

Betty licks her lips, preparing for the long haul. “Being in love sort of implies a disconnect from reality. Like, how can it be real to have your feelings and well-being tied up in another person?” He nods, watching her carefully with that infinite patience she’s come to admire. “But it’s also inevitable. And I don’t mean that like, _breathing._ People are bound to want to connect with _someone_ at some point in their life, even if they’ve been burned. I mean, your family…” She lets the thought trail off, watching the way his eyes fog over in something akin to pain. “ _My_ family, have done things to basically burn me for who I am,” she offers, squeezing his knee. “I’m not going to avoid people forever just because I’ve been hurt. And you aren’t either. I _want_ to be connected to you. _You,_ Jug. I’m tired of people constantly trying to invalidate our relationship just because of what happened before.”

“But…they kind of have a point, don’t they?” There’s something feather-light, cautious about his touch on the back of her neck. She leans back into it, trying not to sigh at the relief his attention brings. “You’ve been under a ton of stress…”

“Jughead.” They each take a deep breath, _trying_ to be good, and she opens her eyes for him, fixing him with as much reassurance as she can with a palm on his cheek. “I love you. I’ll love you today. I’ll love you tomorrow. Next week, and months from now. Whether or not we wait to take this wherever it’s going, I’m willing to fight for you. I’m willing to work for this the same way you were willing to fight for me.” She palms his knee with resolve. “I don’t give up easily.”

Eyes wet, dark, he nods. There’s a chaste kiss, a tentative _yes_ , and Betty tries to swallow the urge for _more._ She licks her lips as he pulls away, trying to read if he's reassured. “I was thinking of going camping. For real this time. Maybe next weekend?”

“With me and Archie?” he clarifies. Her eyes are drawn to his chin for some reason. There’s a lot she wants to study about him, up close and personal. Everything, really.

“Maybe. I know I’ll have to spend a fair amount of that time…alone. To sort of _finish_ figuring things out. Financial things. Living situations,” she sighs, already mentally organizing tasks. Still, she’s serious about trying with him, and tries not to put too much pressure as her fingers dance over his knee. “But I want you there with me at the end of the night, if you can be.”

His fingers tighten between hers with a now-practiced ease. From the smile hiding behind his blue eyes, she thinks maybe he gets it. “To the stars and back.”

A grateful, wet happiness thrives inside of her. 

 

* * *

 

 

Her hair shifts against his cheek, disturbing the quietness that had almost lulled him to _relax_ for the first time in what was probably months. The televisions’s on basic cable, some movie he’s lost track of in the complacency of having his arms wrapped around his girl without the threat of someone coming in to murder them.

“Aren’t you getting…frustrated?”

Her question confuses him, so he tilts back to look at her face for a clue. Her eyes stay glued to the screen, giant and eerily blue in its reflection. A moan permeates the room, two figures coming together.

_Oh._

Instinctively, he readjusts and looks at a safe place in the room. Even if he has gone without his entire life, being this close to someone he  _wants_ to be with sexually has tested his self-control in new and not-so-exciting ways.

“I…try not to think about it.”

Quiet, she nestles under his neck like she’s taking his pulse with her forehead. “But what if you did?”

Swallowing thickly, he avoids concrete thoughts. Especially ones involving moving like the figures on the television screen.

He can feel her gaze on him, waiting for an answer. Sighing, he easily admits, “It’d be with you.”

“When?”

_When?_ As often as they could. In a world that didn’t have exes with guns or gang signs or anything else ridiculous enough to interfere with them.

He tries to play it off as a joke. “A little eager, are we?” he teases, nestling her closer. It sends a warm thrum through his bones that she’s… _excited_ about it.

“Yes.” Her voice comes out husky, thick, and direct. Stunned, he looks down, suddenly overcome with her mouth closing insistently over his. Her kiss is long, rich, and he can’t help but mirror his hands wrapping around the back of her neck to pull her in deeper. The slickness of her tongue tousles against him, his body thrumming under her touch.

“Juggie…” she breathes, draping one leg over his thigh. He can feel her starting to shift, to straddle him, but he’ll be a goner if that happens, so he tugs her back, sucking at her neck instead. Such a sexy, amazing girl…wrapping her legs around him.

Feeling heady with desire, Jughead stifles a moan as her dress dips at the friction of his chest, the swell of he breasts just barely tilting against his shirt. But that warmth…he can feel that warmth.

“Betty, we should stop,” he murmurs into her neck, trying not to drag his teeth across her skin.

Her limbs tighten around him, crotch shoved hard against his hip. “Why? I don’t want to stop, Jug.”

“I can’t…I can’t do this to you.” He shoves his forehead against her shoulder in the hopes it’ll distract him from how much he wants it.

“Do what? Fuck me?”

“Use you,” he corrects, feeling like an idiot. It’s the _night_ she got her freedom. It shouldn’t be…about _this._ “This is enough, Betty. It’s enough for me.”

“Well it’s not enough for me,” she huffs, pushing indignant inches between them. A hollow ache throbs in his throat, his eyes feeling glassy as he meets her indignant gaze. “I want you, Jug. And if you’re not ready, that’s one thing, but if you feel like I do…if you _want_ like I do…”

“I do, I just…” His gaze flickers down to her still-bruised wrists.

Jaw set, Betty glares at him. “I’m not broken.” Even still, her voice throbs with a swollen layer of subtext.

“Of course not,” he reassures her, digging his hands in her silken strands of hair. She’s so warm, so giving, so _Betty_. “You’re beautiful and strong and smart. I’m lucky to have you.”

“You _do_ ,” she insists, trying but failing to ignore the temptation of his caressing hand. He can see her softening, relaxing under the less lustful touches.

“So we can do this for a while. There’s no rush. I want to make sure you’re ready.”

Leaning towards him, Betty shockingly dips a hand under her skirt. Her breasts just against him in a filthy inhale, dark heady eyes fixed on his face. It takes his fucking breath away. “Trust me, I’m ready.”

Stunned, Jughead stays frozen, fascinated by the hidden activity of her hand under her skirt. The silky material shifts, muffling the dangerously slick sounds of whatever’s happening underneath. Betty’s gaze stays trained on him, her skirt bobbing with motion.

_Fuck_. Although he’s studied the internet for this day and he knows she or her previous partner may have… _moves_ , he never expected this. It chases away all rational thought, lost in the hypnotic motion under the textured fabric.

“You like this, Jug? You want to see it? How much I want you?” Even though her eyes are blown black enough to indicate she’s accessing some seriously lusty feelings, Betty’s surprisingly _kind_ in the heavy implication of her words. He can definitely say no, and she’d withdraw her hands and slick away the evidence of what they both want. Voice not quite functioning, he nods.

Instead of removing her hand like he expects her to, Betty scoots back on the couch, her foot not-so-accidentally brushing his crotch as she slides her panties out from under her dress.

Jughead snatches them without a second thought, amazed at the residual heat, the musky scent. His thumb presses where it touched her so lovingly moments ago. Damp. He’s impossibly hard, and a dark part of him growls at the thought of being able to taste her.

“Show me.”

Hair spilling out in silky waves under her head, Betty spreads her legs with all the grace of a Botticelli painting. Smooth skin disappears into darkness, and Jughead finds himself shifting until he’s on his knees and fully facing her, his thumb absently circling the material of her panties.

“This what you want, Juggie?”

She draws the silk of her dress up and over her stomach, fully revealing the tantalizing slitted mound of flesh below. It occurs to him that he hasn’t even seen her breasts, but he’s far too fascinated by the pearly beads of moisture clinging to her lips to remedy that now. That’s…for him. It’s hers, but it’s because of him.

“Let me show you what I want,” she murmurs, oh-so-gently lifting her lips apart, letting out a hitched, relieve breath as her fingers slide against the layers of rich sex. The smell overwhelms him, the slimy sound of her fingers circling a nearly diamond-shaped bundle of nerves rallying a steady thrum in his veins, all his muscles tightening in need. “Juggie,” she moans, bending her knees slightly so her foot rubs against him again.

Catching her ankle, Jughead rubs the delicate bone of her foot, ravenously incensed by the way her fingers disappear into her sex. It looks _tight_ , clinging to her fingers. Salivating, Jughead turns his head and sucks hard on her ankle. Betty keens, spurring him on as he watches her curl her fingers, tapping some unheard pattern on the ridgy material he can’t see, has only read about.

_God she tastes so good_ …and he’s only on her fucking _ankle_. His mouth demands more, devouring a path along her calf, down to her jerky, giving thighs. She’s always been the kind of girl someone could say has legs for days, and Jughead finds he could savor them just as long, bathing in the scent and chorus of her pleasure.

He desperately sucks a red mark against her skin, relishing the breathy gasps, the way her muscles tighten under his touch. _Fuck_. _Her_ touch. Possessed with the need to contribute more directly to the way her thighs clench, Jughead dives in, not with his fingers but with his face. It’s all or nothing when it comes to this, and Betty Cooper touching herself is definitely in the _all_ column. He _needs_ to taste her. To suck her. To dip his tongue in the uniquely butterflied pinkness before him. Shocked, her fingers fly into his hair, scraping his dark locks back from his forehead, blissfully unaware of the gel-like substance she leaves behind.

She’s _sweet_ , which he wasn’t expecting. A little tangy, but not acidic. It’s disturbing how heavenly it is, letting his tongue flatten so he can get a full scoop of the arousal coating her sex. It gets _really_ messy _really_ fast, his nose and cheeks coated as he sucks and licks with abandon.

Her legs tremble around him, hips thrusting up. “Juggie, I’m…I’m gonna come.”

He’s never heard something so sexy in his life and moans, his chin thrusting against her seam in time with his tongue. The muscles clench deliciously, contracting around his tongue as she lets out one, sharp gasp, shoving herself against his face for relief. Rocking in time, he tries to cradle her, to ignore the painfully throbbing thing between his legs. After a few seconds her grip softens, caressing him. “That was so good, Juggie. So good.” She twitches away, sensitive to his touch. Jughead hovers, absolutely coated, wondering what he should do next. Following instinct, he kisses her there. Soft little kisses, trailing back to her thighs where he can wipe his face off without staining her dress. When he finally rights himself she’s grinning, more satisfied than he could’ve ever hoped for.

“You look amazing,” he mutters, enraptured by the fine sheen of sweat that gives her this ethereal glow.

Eyes sparkling, she sits up a little. “I was going to say the same about you.” She lifts a hand up to caress his jaw, and somehow even _that_ touch makes him shiver with need, with love.

“I love you, Betty.”

“I love you too.”

Neither of them comment on the mess they’ve made on the couch. He’s half expecting her to slide off, to grab some wipes and lay a towel beneath them. Instead, she shifts until her hands support the back of his neck, looking sweetly from his lips to his eyes.

“What do you want, Jug?”

“You,” he answers helplessly.

An endearing kiss lingers on his lips. His eyelashes are still fluttering open when she asks, “How?”

“Forever?” He doesn’t even know where it came from, other than the infinite sort of longing hovering in his gut. Her shaky laughter breaks through the sexual tension, inspiring his own lazy grin. “How does that sound?”

“Mm, I’m gonna wait on that kind of promise for a while, but how about when it comes to tonight? How do you want me tonight?”

_Happy_ , he wants to answer. But he realizes that the _forever_ comment made her a little shifty, and she doesn’t want to talk about that. Because of the past. They’ve been dating, if they could even call it that, for like a month, and he’s already asking her for the rest of their lives together like a crazy person. Potentially, a very  _specific_ crazy person.

“Whatever you want,” he swallows, trying to make things more casual. “I’m, uh, I’m guessing however you touch me is going to get the job done.”

“Well, let’s see what you like, shall we?” she teases, eyes glimmering as she unfastens his jeans. He scrambles a little to push his pants and underwear down, paranoia shooting through him that maybe he’s not as impressive as…

_Shit._

He _definitely_ doesn’t want to think of—

Betty kisses him into blissful ignorance of the universe, only aware that her hand reaches behind to release her straps from her shoulder. Her dress folds forward against his chest, and he can _feel_ her moving it, pushing it down as her open-mouthed kisses drag his attention to and fro. He palms the smooth material of her dress as it gives way to the slightly sweaty heat of her skin. With a lingering kiss, she pulls away, nearly towing him with her just from his sheer desire to be close to her. He swallows, practically electrified with anticipation.

“I want you to talk to me.” Her fingers pluck at the collar of his shirt, eyes dark and dangerous as she watches him under long, curled lashes. “You don’t have to. I know it’ll be hard-” His mouth flickers in a smirk, but she tugs on his shirt a little more forcefully before he can make a joke. “But I just love the way you sound, Juggie. I love you, okay? Remember that. Tell me what you like, what you want, what you’re feeling,” she whispers, pressing kisses along the sensitive skin of his neck, up to his ear.

“Huhhh, turned on?” he offers childishly, shivering as she lets out a breath of hot air and tugs sharply on his hair.

“More than that Juggie. You have such a way with words. Share them with me. Seduce me. Be with me, if you can.”

With a shuddering sigh, he tries to think, to _breathe_ as she slides down off his lap and takes him firmly in one hand. _That_ in itself makes him groan throatily.

“I like that.” His teeth hurt from clenching them so hard, trying not to rut against her.

“Oh?” she asks, feigning innocent curiosity. “And what about this?” She leans forward, blond hair draping over her shoulders as her pretty mouth opens and her pink tongue laps at his tip.

“Jesus—fucking—Betty, you’re so…” Enveloped in wetness, Jughead gasps, a sucking sensation drawing unbearable rapture through his nerve endings. “Yes,” he breathes, closing his eyes and burying a hand in her silky hair, grounding himself to her. “I want your pretty petal mouth around me. Just like that.” He doesn't even know if his words make sense, stringing them out without passing any kind of filter other than the  _fuck yeah_ happening in his brain.

Humming, pleased, Betty traces his underside with a decidedly tickling sensation. The reactive combination of _yes_ from what her mouth’s doing and _stop it_ from her hand sends his mind reeling, unsure what to say. Some kind of moan erupts from him, no doubt, and his free hand reaches down to snag her offending one.

Confused, her lips pop off of him, tongue still administering sinfully wonderful patterns on his cock. Is there anything she _can’t_ do? He pulls her hand against his pubic bone, loving just the feeling of having her close, at the dancing, vibrant sensations pulsing through his body in the warm heat of her mouth closing around him once more.

“Betty, you’re so fucking warm, you make me wanna come.”

She moans around him, the vibrations causing his balls to tighten in warning.

His head jerks back against the couch, and he has to force himself to open his eyes, to try to slow down. “Fuck, Betty, I think I…I’m gonna come.”

The reverberation of her throat pulls along him encouragingly, her fist pumping him harder. But he shouldn’t, right? It's too fast. He shouldn’t shoot milky come down the throat of the girl he loves, the girl who just got out of—

She licks him from base to tip, pumping furiously, tapping his tip with her tongue.

“Betty,” he shouts, shutting his eyes as his body clenches and releases in a burst, no doubt spurting right on her pretty pink tongue. Her fist slows, careful of his sensitivity.

Dazed, he comes to Betty’s bashful smile, carefully dabbing her lips on the back of her hand. Those eyes are so bright. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Thank you, Betty.”

Ducking her head down, Betty clears her throat. “You’re welcome.” For whatever reason, she covers her chest. Did he…do something? Or should he get re-dressed too? “You cold? Wanna wear my jacket?”

Flushing, Betty carefully adjusts her skirt before shaking her head. The rejection settles something heavy in his stomach. “I’m going to get a water.”

“Okay. Don’t be long,” he half-teases, but his brow furrows nonetheless. Betty sniffs as she tangles her hair to the side in one fist. Does he taste weird? Did she not…like it? His heart’s thrumming in his chest by the time she gets back with the glasses of water and a throw blanket that’s soft and fuzzy on one side, regular texture on the other. As she settles into his side, he can’t help but notice that their clothes feel stiffer somehow between them.

“Hey, did I…do something?”

“What? No,” she frowns, glancing over him.

“Was it too fast?”

“Juggie, _no._ ” Jughead’s pushed back on the couch by her insistent hands on his shoulders. “I want you. I do. And that…was amazing.” Her eyes are big and round and thankfully, sincere, if a little pissed off by having to constantly reassure him.

“Sorry. I just…that was my first time, and I got worried you…didn’t like it,” he blushes, thumbing her lips for the sake of reassurance.

She kisses his finger, gently nudging her cheek into his palm. “I loved it, Juggie. I love _you_. In fact…I was just…I was sort of wondering if and when you wanted to…have full sex.”

“Full sex? I didn’t realize there were varying stages.”

“Penetrative sex. You in me sex.” At his gaping confusion, she shifts a little closer. “I came earlier, so we don’t have to.” She bites her lip, looking torn.

He jostles her gently. “What?”

Taking a deep, reluctant breath, she pushes her skirt down. “I have condoms.”

Stunned, he raises his eyebrows, his dick already twitching at the thought. “Uh…I wasn’t really expecting anything tonight, Betts.”

“I know, I just…” She shifts uncomfortably, tugging at her dress. It makes him want to hold her, so he wraps his arm around her shoulder a little tighter, drawing small circles on her skin it the hopes it helps her unwind. “I’ve been thinking about us for a long time. Or what _feels_ like a long time, anyway. I don’t…really have a barometer for what’s _normal_ anymore.”

“Normal’s overrated,” he assures her, pressing a kiss to the shoulder nestled into him.

Her relieved chuckle lifts a little of the weight on his chest. It’s sort of surreal, sitting with her like this. But then her breath stutters in her throat and his Betty!antennae shoots straight up, leaning closer to her face as her fingers tentatively reach for his knee.

“I, um…even if we don’t… _do_ _that…_ do you think maybe you could stay the night?”

“Here?”

“Yeah. If that’s okay.” She looks so small, so delicate, that he forgets how _strong_ she is and traces her jawline to give her some of his assuredness. She’s…inviting him into her house. Her life. Her body. And definitely, assuredly, into her heart.

His voice is softer with Betty, warmer somehow. He wonders if it’s too soon to remind her he’s in love. “Definitely.”

Grateful, she kisses him. It’s sweet, lingering, but nothing that’s insistent or desperate. She’ll be okay. They’ll be okay.

She presses one more quick kiss to his lips before her smile reaches her eyes. "Do you want some popcorn before bed?"

Once again, he has to remind himself not to tell her he loves her. _Show_ her. Like she's slowly showing him. "Yes. Always, yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How does this fic not have more sex in it? I am ASHAMED. Anyway, these two love bugs are gonna snuggle up and get some more lovin' in the next few chapters before our conclusion. I know it's PAINFUL to watch them waffle between if this is a legit relationship or not and honestly I kinda wanna smack them both but after next chapter's camping session things should be good. Our first Lucas-less chapter. Do we miss him? Did the sex make up for it? Lemme know your thoughts and I'll see you for the next chapter


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty puts her trust in Jughead when they start experimenting with power and control. Archie joins them for what they hope will be a brief respite from in camping. Two people come to an understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lotsa smut this chapter. Betty is not slowing down this relationship! FULL STEAM AHEAD! How shall we endure? Well as usual you can skim those sections if you're squeamish and imagine Archie sending shirtless selfies to Veronica because that totally happens in this universe and you know it.

Betty’s afraid to go to sleep here. Maybe _nervous_ is a better way to think of it, and she doesn’t want to tell Jughead because he’ll worry about her, worry about _them_ , and she just… _can’t_ right now. So she refills the popcorn, downs glasses of water, and snuggles into his arms, not even missing her panties still shoved in the corner along with his beanie and blazer.

_Blazer_.

Her nails bit into her skin. Jughead turns at her inhale. “You okay?”

She can't handle that  _one more time…_

“Yeah. I’m fine.” She suppresses the urge to fake a smile and shoves a piece of popcorn in her mouth. Jughead’s gaze bores into her and it makes her squirm for reasons that upset her. It’s not like someone else's gaze who would scrutinize, belittle or manipulate her imperfections. Her _feelings_. Jughead somehow amplifies them, tempers them and stirs them up all at the same time. He knows she’s not perfect. He knows that. But he might try to fix how she feels about it when she’s trying to fix herself. His lips press softly at the juncture of her neck and jaw. “Juggie,” she sighs, leaning into it. _Yes. A good distraction._

She turns and kisses him on the mouth, trying to deepen his sensitivity into something carnal. Swinging her thigh across his, she feels his body tighten in response. “Betty,” he moans, eyelashes fluttering prettily. He's such a worn, strong guy, dark hollows holding her admiration under his eyes. His beauty is like a midnight whereas Lucas’s was more like dusk. Purples and golds. Jughead’s is dark blue and black, some kind of magic drawing her to him like the stars, the moon itself. In a needy, open-mouthed kiss, she tastes his tongue, still salty from their snack and just a hint of her sweetness underneath.

“Fuck me, Jughead,” she purrs, dangling across him in the greedy search for friction. "Please." His palms hike up her dress, wet mouthy kisses plucking at her chest.

In his eagerness, he blindly gropes her ass, wrists getting caught in the material of her dress. Jughead’s inky hair brushes against her skin, a huff of frustrated air hitting her veins. “Am I allowed to take this thing off?”

With more finesse than he’d probably like, she unzips the rest of her dress and hauls it over her head. There’s this sort of focused anticipation on his face, one she doesn’t have time to savor before she’s tugging at his jeans, her arousal already smearing on his thigh.

“Holy shit, Betty,” he breathes, barely able to lift his hips before she’s tugging them bare and climbing back on. His own arousal rises fairly quickly, poking temptingly along her seam. They get lost in the enticement of each other's mouths, languorous kisses passed between them as his hands trickle along her bare back in support. Suddenly she realizes he's  _at_ her entrance and she almost sunk on him.

“Shit,” she hisses, falling back, aching for his warmth even as she removes herself from it.

“Where are you going?” he asks, eyebrows arching. He clings to her waist in desperation.

“The condom.” The packet’s not far, but she’s so pissed at losing momentum that she practically tackles him back on the couch when she returns. Heady, immediate heat is what she needs. _His_ heat. She gives him one deep, searing kiss, enough to make him moan. The back of his neck is already sweaty, his skin damp and warm. She lays loving strokes on his body, enjoying the momentary intimacy before she sits back on her knees and opens the foil packet. His tongue swipes his bottom lip in fascination.

“Betty, you’re so fucking amaz—“

“I know,” she breathes, unfurling the latex on his dick, hanging on to make sure it tugs down properly. He’s already squeezing his eyes shut, enraptured by her touch. “Just wait until you’re inside me.”

The direct emphasis makes him needy, panting. He watches her with reverence, gently bracing her waist as she slides down to ease him into her aching sex.

_Yes_ , she thinks, closing her eyes. Full. Tight. No room for anything else but sex and love and—

Jughead leans his head back, breathing heavy and spreading his legs out as a wider base below her. “Shit, Betty. You were right. Amazing. Holy _fuck_.” She laughs. It feels strange, like setting off a firecracker in a library, but Jughead’s mouth curls in a dreamy smile that makes her insides clench.

She kisses around it, wondering if _this_ is why she never tried to laugh during sex before. It’s harder to kiss him, catching more teeth than anything else, but strangely, he doesn’t seem to mind. His palms sear into the skin of her back, clutching her close as she rocks against him. It’s intoxicating, controlling every ounce of friction. It builds in her, eyes shutting closed as she lets the sensation of his fingernails trail lightly down her back. His lips tread feather-light kisses across her chest and neck. Desire’s climbing, rising, and even though she doesn’t have huge expectations for his first time inside of her, she wants to come. _Needs_ to.

“Juggie. Touch me. There.”

Jughead leans back and looks down at where they’re joined, taking time to watch the way their flesh moves together, the slick smacking imagery to be stowed away for later, possibly forever. It’s so intoxicating that he flinches, almost orgasms right then.

Her hand fists into the hair at the base of his neck, forcing him to look up at her and away from the graphic sex below. “Don’t lose me, Juggie. _Please_. Touch me.”

Sobered, his thumb stumbles to her clit, rubbing in slow circles. She can tell he’s struggling, shifting and trying to hold back as she build up to join him. “I’m so close, baby, just a little longer. Make me feel so good, Juggie, make me come around your thick cock.” His thumb swirls harder, nearly burning her with his knuckles in the heated endeavor. It’s a little rough, messy, and coupled with his irregular slams, it’s driving her right to the edge. His lips suck onto her nipple, the sensation so startling that she gasps, shutting her eyes tight. Encouraged, he does it again, nipping lightly and panting heavily against her wet skin. “Yes. _Yes. YES. Fuck it, Juggie, come with me.”_

They break through the glass ceiling together, shattering cries as they ride through the desperate thrusts taking over their bodies. Quivering, she drags her fingers along the back of his neck, wanting to dig in and keep him against her heart. She _wants_ him, not just clenching between her thighs, a familiar heat, but here. _With_ her when she transcends. Maybe longer than that.

With a shiver, she moves against him, aware of the way his mouth lays open in rapture against her breast. Just the tips of his teeth accidentally rake her skin there as he leans in for a kiss.

Her orgasm has barely subsided when she feels an unusual ache along her wet center. It’s not from friction. It’s more like a burning itch. She needs pressure. She needs to be sliding, fucking him, holding him there. He’s not saying anything, still gently kissing her breasts.

“Juggie,” she pleads, almost wanting to cry. _Again_ , she wants to demand, but she can’t. He _just…_

Dazed, robbed of anything much farther than basic motor functions in post-coital bliss, Jughead draws her lovingly to his chest, hands carding through her hair. There’s some cooing, reassuring kisses, but it just makes her want to whimper, to rut. Cradling her carefully, Jughead tucks the blanket under and around them, removing and tying the dripping condom before dropping it on the floor where it plops with a wet smack.

“I’ll clean it up later,” he murmurs, kissing her forehead, already sleepy. It’s a slow roll onto their sides, and Betty tries to ignore her pounding heart as Jughead’s breath evens out in front her. He’s so calm. Peaceful. She tries to suppress the urge to slap him awake, see his eyes light up with alarm. He can’t be sleeping. Not yet. There’s still…something happening.

Noise plays dully in the background. The movie. Anxious, she wriggles around and clutches the blanket to her chest, trying to ignore the emptiness burrowing inside her. Even in sleep, he holds her closer, nuzzling the back of her neck while his arms brush the bottom of her breasts. She doesn’t know where it’s coming from, this panic. This shame, clawing up her throat and demanding _more_. He loves her. That should be enough.

_Forever_.

A sharp shiver shoots through her bones, and she curses herself, curses _him_.

She won’t let him ruin this. She won’t let him scare her now. They’re different. This is different. But it’s not… _so_ different that she doesn’t feel a shiver of a memory every now and then.

Even now she feels the phantom prick of fangs on her breasts. Jughead had been bleeding, Lucas had been hungry. She’d been desperate, thinking, t _rying_.

She shoves one hand between her legs and waits, unmoving against the somewhat sticky recesses of her body. The ache seems to abate with the pressure. _Mine_ , she reassures herself. _Mine_ , she thinks again, nestling back into Jughead’s warmth. He drowsily tucks her closer, and with his lips at her shoulder she feels just safe enough to drift into sleep.

 

* * *

 

Betty’s head lolls into his chest, nestling further for warmth. Laughing quietly so as not to wake her, Jughead tucks his arm around her a little more comfortably in the hopes that it won’t fall asleep along with his fellow passenger.

“She hasn’t been sleeping well,” Archie says softly, glancing from his friends back to the road.

Frankly, that’s confusing, because Jughead would’ve said the opposite. They sleep together (and _sleep_ together) almost every time they hang out. “How do you know?”

“I just kinda get the impression at school, lunch, that kinda thing. Plus, on the rare occasion she stays at her house, I can see the laptop screen lit up in her room.”

“Maybe she just fell asleep to a movie,” he offers, shifting his foot to the dashboard. “I thought she was staying at the—“ _house of horrors_ , he almost says. “The house she got.”

“She _was_ ,” Archie says carefully, glancing at the blonde like he’s waiting for her to wake up and smack him. “But uh, she’s staying with Kev again. And her parents, but not often.”

“What do you mean? I’ve—we’ve met at the house half a dozen times. She’s not _staying_ _there_?” Archie shoots him a _look_. Anxiety tugs a knot in his chest. “So…you’re saying…she didn’t tell me?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Archie tries to stick the road. “Maybe I shouldn’t have, either. She’s just…she’s doing great, but there’s still…the shadow, you know? I think maybe she just needs time.”

Jughead’s offered her time so much that she actually gets annoyed.

“I don’t need _time_ , Jughead, I need _you_ ,” she usually protests, pulling him into an embrace. They spend a lot of time _together_. Wrapped up at the drive-in, laughing at the edge of his motorcycle, he’s even brought her to the trailer a few times. It’ll still be a while before he braves bringing her to the Wyrm. There are some things still a little too weird for them, and he’d like to enjoy these early stages while they last. Like when they go to her house and play stupid board games with Archie, Kevin, and sometimes Joaquin, then when everyone goes home they curl up on the couch and cuddle or fool around until they fall asleep. They haven’t used the mattresses yet. She says she’s nervous about them, which he totally gets. Even Mr. Ward’s old bed is probably haunted with ghosts he doesn’t know how to exorcise, and it’s not like Jughead trusts any second-hand mattresses he’d be able to buy with his meager pocket money. So far their post-Lucas courtship has been…good. _They’re_ good, especially considering the circumstances.

It’s better than anything he could’ve hoped for in a million years, which is why it sucks there’s this _thing_ that neither of them can control between them.

He glances down at the sleeping angel tucked in his arm. Relationships are weird. Is he supposed to say something? Nothing? Just let her rest and figure it out?

Regardless, he presses a kiss to her forehead and cuddles her closer. Maybe he can’t be a safety blanket, but at the very least he can be a loving place to rest her head. He just wishes she could _tell_ him these things.

 

Archie swings his leg over the side of the pickup truck, jumping up and down just to get his blood flowing. “You ready for this?”

“About as ready as I’ll ever be,” Jughead smirks, hauling half of the tent out with his good arm. “So, you realize that I’m recovering from a bullet wound, and you are the football player here.”

Archie shoots him an unbothered look, easily carrying the heaviest of the packs. “I’m not putting up the tents by myself, Jughead.”

“But think of what you could tell Veronica! Handsome lumberjack Archie, putting together a campsite all by himself. I think she likes muscles, right Betty?”

Still a little dazed from her nap, Betty is infinitely more helpful. “Archie, I’ll help you put together the tents. It’s the least I can do since you put everything in the truck and drove the whole way up here,” she says pointedly, daring an eyebrow raise at her boyfriend. “Juggie can rest and eat his granola pack like the wounded soldier he is.”

“You hear this, Arch? No one told me this was going to be a _guilt_ trip.”

A playful smack on his chest is met with smiles and an embarrassing amount of glee.

It feels easy, crunching through the wilderness together, scoping out a spot to lay their camp. Betty and Archie both insist on taking pictures of every combination, Betty biting her lip to hide a grin when Archie takes the first opportunity to whip his shirt off. Jealousy pricks briefly up Jughead’s neck, soothed the second Betty leans into his side.

“I’ll send these pictures to V.”

“Hold on, can I see?” Archie insists, leaping easily over the mostly-assembled poles of Betty’s tent to peer at the phone. “Yeah, that’s a good one. Do you think I should maybe flex a little more?”

“Why? To poke out the camera lens?” Jughead rolls his eyes. “She knows you’re ripped, Arch.”

“She said you’re visiting her next weekend,” Betty smiles teasingly. “Maybe you can remind her then.”

For a moment, Archie actually looks shocked, which is odd, because from what Jughead’s gathered, Miss Lodge isn’t the first young lady he’s courted the past few years. She's certainly a personality, though. Archie’s face breaks into a boyish grin. “Has she been talking about me?”

Groaning, Jughead throws a stick in his direction. “I thought we were here for camping! Not to braid each other’s hair and talk about girls.”

“Hey, I don’t complain when you and Betty cozy up. Just don’t have sex in our tent, man.”

“Oh my god," Betty flushes, just about ready to bury herself in her sleeping bag.

Jughead’s face already hurts from smiling, and a bag of jumbo marshmallows gets pushed into his gut to keep him out of trouble. _This_ is more like it, he thinks, a hand snaking around Betty’s hip. “Let the adventures begin!”

 

* * *

 

“You sure you’ll be all right?” Jughead looks like he’s about two seconds away from hoisting her into the tent with him and Archie.

“I’m fine. I’ll call you if I get attacked by bears.”

Annoyed, he splays a protective hand on her shoulder. “Bears aren’t exactly what I’m worried about.”

“Lions and tigers too,” she promises, leaning forward to plant a kiss on him.

Begrudgingly, he accepts her blithe distraction and keeps the innocent pecks going, slowly lingering longer, attempting to drag her back with him.

“Juggie,” she chides, pushing back to get a few inches of space. “I’ll be fine.”

It’s more an affirmation than a belief at this point.

“You’re sure I can’t convince you? I’ve been told I’m an excellent cuddler,” he needles, already pulling at her waist. It’s endearing and annoying all at once.

“You are. But I’m exhausted after being outside and hiking all day. Plus…” she sighs, glancing back at her empty tent. “I’ve…I have to sleep on my own _sometime_.”

“You don’t _have_ to.”

The softness in his voice makes her heart thud painfully. He’s…concerned. He’s _here_. But if she takes him into that tent, even for just a little while, to keep his scent and their musk as a safety blanket, how will she ever know if she’s really getting better?

“I know.” She traces his brow like it’s part of a painting she can smooth to a curve again. “I love you, Jughead. Thank you for the tempting offer. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

Throat tight, he nods, gaze trailing down her body like its tracing an invisible rain drop. “Yeah. Okay. You know where to find me.”

“I know,” she agrees, kissing him one last time before squeezing his hand goodbye. It’s hard to turn away for some reason, _painful_ , almost. But it’s for the best, she reassures herself, chin high as she shifts into the tent and zips it closed. She knows from the hesitation in his footsteps that he’s paused, that he’s looking back at her. Anxious tension ripples through her. She wants to assure him it’s okay, _she’s okay_ , and kiss him until the sun rises, but then neither of them will ever know if that’s true outside of when they’re together, when she’s surrounded by love and friendship.

So instead, she tightens her fists and sits back on her heels until the sound of footsteps gets swallowed in the wilderness. The air feels stale, suffocating and dry. It takes a few seconds before she’s calm enough to unstick her fingernails and slink back to the corner of the tent. She’s done this dozens of times before. With Archie and Jughead. _Safe_ people. Not her father, her mother, nor Lucas.

She can do this.

Eventually, fitfully, sleep drags her mind somewhere dark and quiet under the plastic sheeting of a tent and a starry, purplish black sky.

 

~

The dulled zip of a knife wakes her, jerking with a gasp. A shadow.

“Juggie?”

The shadow draws tall. It’s his shape.

“I told you, I’m fi…”

The shadow’s claw transforms into a hand pushing through the tent flap. Just a glint of moonlight on nearly-blonde hair, dark at the roots, on something metallic in his other hand. Pale eyes glimmer before it’s too dark to see anything but his outline.

“Juggie…” she whispers, nails embedding into the tent floor, searching for the ground underneath.

He doesn’t say anything this time. There are no words, just the weight of his body as he steps over her, as quiet as an assassin. There’s no _feeling_ , no electricity, no blood pounding in her ears. Not even the metallic taste of death. Just darkness, descending slowly, like an old friend. A dear lover. His hand cradles her just behind her neck, gently tilting her face up to meet her for a kiss she can’t return.

Her limbs tingle with painful anticipation, like even his presence is a weight she can’t bear.

His _memory_.

A pressure closes round her chest and she takes one last breath before submerging in blunt, painful nothingness.

~

 

* * *

 

 

An angry, repetitive thwacking—no, hacking, cuts through the warm embrace of slumber. The wake-up call is about as gentle as falling out of a hammock.

“The fuck?” Jughead groans, rolling onto his side. It’s _way_ too early for this. The light’s barely broken the horizon. Archie shifts too, giant arm nudging over his ears and one big sigh before he’s out again.

But if Archie’s here…

A jolt of adrenaline has Jughead shooting upright, scrambling through the tent flap. He’s barely got his feet in flappy, untied boots before he’s sprinting towards Betty’s tent.

“No, oh no,” he groans, the sound getting louder. Maybe it’s just some random lumberjack in the middle of the woods. One of the nut jobs from her sister’s cult. “Betty?!”

Slicing through her tent, he stumbles, attempting to right himself so as not to fall into her. But she’s not in there. It’s empty.

Inhaling sharply, he holds his breath in the hopes to quell any impending panic. She could’ve gotten up early for a hike. She could’ve done a million things that are a good reason for not being right here for him to hold and _see_ and touch, but his brain isn’t filtering through any of them. With an alarming amount of blank thoughts, Jughead takes off towards the hacking sound, drawing his own switchblade in the process.

It’s instinctual, heartbeat thudding in his chest, his lungs still swollen, knees mechanically stumbling towards the sound. Twigs and grass whip at his legs but all he can focus on is getting to that _sound_. On the edge of absurdity, he _knows_ rather than _believes_ it will lead him to _her_. The air feels colder here, thicker like a mist that tries to cling to his barely-warmed skin. The sound transfers to cracking, kicking, reminiscent of the dull sounds Betty made when shoved into a car, Lucas crawling on top of her.

Like a mirage, an oasis, a flushed, furious Betty emerges through the misty trees.

“Oh my god, Betty,” he pants, stopping short when her eyes widen in alarm.

“Jug—what are you—I thought I was far enough…” Her fists curl around Archie’s hatchet, gaze darting nervously to the mangled tree limbs at her feet, broken in a circle of protection around her.

“Betty…” He doesn’t know what to say. Overwhelmed, something hot prickles behind his eyes.

She’s okay.

Relief wracks through his throat, and all at once he darts behind another tree to heave the contents of his barren stomach.

“Juggie!”

Raw pain scrapes at his throat, water streaming down his face and dripping to the mulch below. He feels warmth spreading on his back, along his ribs, Betty’s hand slowly rubbing circles. Even thought it helps, he still feels acid boiling inside his gut.

“I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, still supporting his weight on the tree. It’s not fair. She shouldn’t have to apologize. She shouldn’t have to be afraid. _He_ shouldn’t still be afraid, but it had just…taken him. Triggered him, being in the woods.

Biting her lip, Betty pulls gently on his shoulder. “Hey, Jug. Let’s get you some breakfast. It’ll settle your stomach, and then maybe we can talk?”

Swallowing bile feels better than answering her right now beyond a weak nod. Momentarily stepping away, she cradles bunches of the spattered tree limbs in one arm. As he leans over to join her, she waves a hand and insists that he rest and she finish what she started. As he watches her carefully, safely pick up the pieces, an ache throbs deep in his chest. Love, yes, but something else. Longing.

He just wants to _help_.

Soon enough, brambles in hand, she wraps an arm around his waist so they can support each other all the way back to their campground. It’s quiet now, the deafening roar of adrenaline and his heartbeat faded into a quiet, comfortable misery aching for food and love. A few birds twitter in the distance. Betty keeps her footsteps in time with his, offering to tie his boot laces when the flap of one falls forward. Half-smiling, he shakes his head.

They fall into an easy rhythm, settling around their campsite and scratching flint.

“You know I have a lighter, right?” he offers, throat still scratchy.

A little hesitant, like she wants to extrapolate, Betty nods, eyes on the sparks at the edge of her fingertips. “It’s more organic this way.”

“Didn’t realize you were one of those new-age hippies, Betts.”

An eye roll. He smirks at that, a small victory in the attempt at normalcy. 

After boiling some purified water into a container and finding him some granola to munch on while the eggs cook, Betty sidles in to his side.

“So…” he starts, not sure where to begin.

“So,” she echoes.

He goes with the first question on his mind besides _are you all right?_ which seems to annoy her more than comfort her as of late. “Why were you up so early this morning?”

With a big sigh, she nudges some rocks with her foot. “I had a bad dream.” He can imagine _why_.

“Does that…happen a lot?”

“Lately. It’s not usually when someone else is around, but…a lot of the time I dream that he’s come back for me. For you. For everyone.”

He’s quiet for a minute, staring at the fire that cackles softly in the background of his contemplation.

Eventually, her fingers lace in his. She lets her blonde hair drape casually over his shoulder. Having her _around_ him helps. He lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding.

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Betty,” he sighs, turning to face her. “How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t want you to… _suppress_ anything around me. I want to be with you. How are we supposed to do this if you’re not honest with me?”

Green eyes shift to the trees, their dark lines cutting across the blue-tinted sky, Betty nods, tightening her fingers in his. “I know. I’m sorry.”

The quiet creeps up on him like wet fingers at his neck. Does she just want to keep _ignoring_ this thing that happened with all of them?

“To be honest, Juggie, some days I just want to push through this lingering pain because…I want to be happy and stable for you.”

Cold air fills his lungs. “What?” He catches her cheek in his palm, hoping to warm it with slow, determined strokes. “Betty, you don’t have to be _anything_ for me. You’re _you_ , and that’s enough.”

“It’s not,” she protests gently.

“You keep saying that, but it’s true. I don’t need anything else but you. I thought we’d moved past this, but honestly we can keep working through it. You don’t have to keep torturing yourself. The bad stuff is all behind us now.” 

“It’s not,” she repeats firmly. Resolve floats sharp and collected behind her gaze. “If it was, you wouldn’t have gotten sick when you found me this morning.”

“But that—“

“It’s affecting you too, Jug, even if it’s not night terrors. We both know that Lucas is gone, but only for so long. Juvie will hold him for two years… _less_ if he gets out on good behavior,” she explains, Jughead’s fist tightening in hers. “The restraining order is barely going to do anything. Nor would changing my name or moving or anything else. I had the Sheriff’s son around me at all times and he _still_ came for me. It’s like he couldn’t help it. Am I supposed to _hide_ in two years? I don’t want to live that life…of Snow White, hiding away in the woods until the Evil Queen or Huntsman come out to finish the job. I can’t guarantee that his new _perfect_ life doesn’t involve extracting revenge.”

“Betty, I…promise to be more than Grumpy and the Prince in this scenario.” At her annoyed expression, he pulls her closer. “I _want_ to protect you. You have to _let_ me.”

“No,” she insists, pulling away and yanking a part of him out of place with her. “You can’t throw your life away to guard mine, the same way I can’t spend my whole life trying to protect you from this. Neither of us can handle that responsibility. I know that last time we were here, we kind of shut all that stuff away, but it…found us anyway,” she finishes quietly, gaze falling to the mostly-healed spot on his arm. He wants to hold her, tug her in his arms and make the pain go away.

Helpless, he looks at the small fluttering fire, droopy eggs hardening in the small pan above. There’s no doubt that they’ll come to a boil or burn without their attention, leak and scramble beyond all recognition. “I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t end it when I had the chance.”

“What?”

“We had him. Lucas. All my men and I, we were there. We had the means, we could’ve claimed self-defense, and…we brought him back to be tried.”

Betty draws at his hands and face, but he’s too ashamed to look up, heat flaming his cheeks. “Juggie, nothing _he_ did is your fault. Lucas’s madness shouldn’t have to transform either of us into a murderer. I could’ve killed him in the hotel room too, but I didn’t. This isn’t your fault, and it’s probably not mine either.”

_Probably?_ What the hell had this guy done to them?

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, kissing her tenderly, cusping her thick blonde hair against her neck. Their foreheads rock against each other, like their minds can meet in this heart-to-heart. “I just love you so much and sometimes it feels like that’s all I’m doing. That I’m failing you because I can’t…protect you from this.”

“You’re not, Jug,” she insists quietly, caressing either side of his jaw. “Being with you is when I feel the most myself, the most in control, because you _let_ me. No one else… _gets_ me like you do. I love you. I trust you…even if sometimes you may not feel like I do.”

The shaky breath that fans over his face is enough to make him look up in curiosity. It takes significant effort not to close the distance between their lips.

“What?”

Licking her lips, Betty’s eyes tentatively meet his, dilating briefly. “Um, speaking of… _control_ and _trust_ …I was thinking…maybe it’s time we could try some things.”

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly she’s able to make his heart race after such a serious conversation. They’ve already done a _lot_. “What things?”

“Maybe you could hold my throat. Or…tie me up.”

His swallow and thudding heart can probably be heard in a five mile radius. “Are you…sure? That seems kinda…”

“Like it would bring up bad memories?” she offers, quirking an eyebrow as her thumb slide over his lips possessively. Something flutters in his lower gut, mouth instinctively opening so she can stick her thumb between his lips. “I think it’s time to make some new ones.”

“Mm,” he nods, tongue laving the tip of her finger, feeling the rest of him rise to the occasion.

 

* * *

 

Betty leads him by the hand to her tent. Thankfully they were able to come up with a new system for _more, yes, less,_ and _stop_. He asked and listened to what she wanted, and he’s going to explore it with her. She’s _excited_.

Their sex has been _amazing_. Sure, he’s had a few “accidents” when he’s overstimulated, but he always offers to make up for it with whatever she wants. And now, with bellies full of a light breakfast and maybe just a hint of understanding, she leads him into her tent, not even bothering to suppress a grin when his forehead bonks into the ceiling. He’s so _tall._ Straightening, he looks down on her, waiting for her permission to start. It’s sort of intoxicating to be in a small space like this with him… _towering_ over her in nothing but a tank top and flannel bottoms, his boots left outside. 

“What do you want me to do?” she asks, biting shyly and eagerly on her lower lip.

His voice is deep, still husky with morning raggedness when it drags her under a tempting spell. “Take your clothes off, Betty.”

This part is easy. With no uncertain enthusiasm, she whips her shirt over her head, reaching behind to unsnap and discard her pastel bra. Even though he’s seen her topless before, it fuels a heat in her belly to see the obvious affect it has on him. Eyes darkening, lips parted, he sucks in a breath and stares as she pointedly leans forward, wriggling out of her bottoms and letting her breasts distract him from the potential awkwardness of the movements.

“Good,” he assures her, his large hand sliding across her shoulder and just under her jaw. “You’re such a good girl.”

With lingering adoration, he indulges her in soft, promising kisses, the velvet of his tongue sweeping the inside of her lips. Moaning, she draws him closer. It’s tempting to leave her role and top him again. But he must sense her longing, because he gently draws away, pushing gently on her neck until she’s laying flat against the sleeping bag. Her hips arch up towards him in a silent plea to be settled. 

“Sh, baby. I know. I’ve got you.”

There’s just… _love_ glowing at her, even behind the musk of arousal, and it makes her feel like her chest’s been butterflied open so he can lay inside of her.

With his thumb firmly around her throat, he lets the other hand slide up her side. Every touch is done with the smooth assuredness of someone making a pattern in the sand. Through the serenity, she feels her pulse. Steady and strong against his hand. _His touch_. Closing her eyes, she arches into it.

“You’re my pretty girl, Betty. So beautiful. So good for me, spread out like this. You like it when I touch you.” She moans, nodding along to his adoration, her fingers wrapping around his wrist to find his pulse. “You want to touch me too.”

“ _Yes_ ,” she breathes, lips parted. He’s already so good at this, intuitive. He drags her hand across her breasts until she’s pressed against the soft material of his flannel pants, the heat of him throbbing underneath. They look into each other, his head tilted like he’s fitting them together.

“You like this, Betty?”

“Yes.” The syllable is strained against the pressure of his thumb, and she _loves_ it.

With guided movements, he rubs her hand against him, his length hardening even more at their friction. His grip trickles down to her wrist, letting her fingers splay at his tip.

“I know you like touching me like this. You want to make your boyfriend proud and hard for you.”

“Nn, yes,” she moans, knee raising in the hopes that by exposing more of herself, he’ll touch her _there_.

“I love your body just like this. Open and mine for the fucking.”

“Jug,” she gasps, his long fingers probing her slit. A crooked smirk plays on his lips, silently asking if _this_ is okay. She nods. _More_ than okay. It’s perfect. It’s slow. _Almost_ too slow, so she draws a circle on his wrist.

Rearranging his stance, Jughead kneels and dabs two fingers against her aching sex. As soon as he fully plunges into her, she’s struggling to keep up, eyes shutting in the blazing attempt to remember what the hell she’s doing with her own hand.

“That’s right, Betty,” he encourages, kissing her neck. “You’re mine. I’ve got you. I’m going to make you feel so good sweetie. You’re gonna come so hard like the good girl you are.” The flutter of his eyelashes against her skin sends a delicious thrill all the way down to her toes.

Desperate, she squeezes him through his pants. She can feel his breath come out in heavy puffs against her, but he doesn’t stop focusing on what he’s doing to her. Her fingers trace his tip in circles, not meaning to signal _more_ , but inspiring it anyway. His thumb presses harder against her trachea, breathing stifled, but she feels _great_. Amazing. His circular patterns mirror her own, drawing her to the point of ecstasy on her clit.

“Juggie,” she pleads, chin tilting upwards, a silent _take me_.

“I know, baby, I know. I want you to be a good girl and come for me.”

The heat of his breath leaves her neck, Jughead sitting back and watching her with focused determination. She trusts him so implicitly that she can’t even handle the intensity of his full attention for more than a few seconds before she’s shoved free-falling into an electric orgasm. His hand squeezes tighter, strangling her cries in her throat. Still, it’s not hard enough to leave a bruise.

“I love you, Betty,” he whispers, only a hint of wavering as her feet thump the plastic material around them.

It’s overwhelming. Drowning and suffocating and freeing all at the same time. As the pulsing roar of endorphins settles a little lower, she lifts her chin so he releases her, thumb tapping her lips for a kiss. She sucks him into her mouth, tongue drawing a little “J” she’s not sure he can read. Feeling exhausted yet insatiable, she lets her hand wander up to his tank top, bunching the material.

He moves closer, raising his arms so she can take it off. Everything’s still tingling, amazing, even more so when his body is naked and hot and ready for her. They both have to maneuver his pants and boxers off, a condom _on_ , and then she’s willingly trapped under all his long, muscular limbs.

“Betty,” he murmurs, almost a warning, a command, but it has that _lightness_ to it. A break in the sternness. She could say the word, do the gesture and he’d set her free, lay down and let her take the lead like she has so many times before. He’s a partner, not a cage or her master.

Lost in the tenderness, she snakes her hands up into his waiting fingers where he drags them above her head. A heady gaze, a subtle nod, and his grip tightens, bodies pushing together. The pressure of the two of them is divine. The giving, the taking. Grinning, she closes her eyes, unable to maintain the bliss of returning his passionate gaze for longer than a few seconds at a time. She tilts her hips up, creating the angle that she knows he likes, her nipples grazing his chest.

Small grunts echo in her ears followed by desperate, clinging kisses that litter her face and neck. “Juggie,” she keens, needing a _real_ kiss. One hand is large enough to hold her down, both wrists fitting between his thumb and forefinger while the other roughly palms her breast. “Juggie,” she tries again, borderline squeamish from all the attention on the sensitive skin of her neck. He twists her nipple, silencing her pleas and eliciting an open-mouthed gasp. _That_ must be what he wanted, because only when her mouth is open does he swallow her pleasure with his own. Their kisses are messy, languid, and luxurious in the midst of thrusts and grinding.

On instinct, her arms retract to try and deepen the kiss, but he squeezes her wrists in reminder.

_No. These stay here._

His teeth nuzzle her lip with quiet affection.

“One more time, Betty, you think you can come for me one more time?”

Submerged under this spell, she nods, kissing him again before his thrusts get harder, hand massaging her breast with firm rolls as she lifts her knees to take him deeper— _there_ , that spot that’s usually only reached when she’s on her hands on knees.

“Fuck, Juggie,” she swears, arching her body into him, pre-orgasm tightening her body with every punch on that spot inside her. He’s gritting his teeth and his eyes fold shut, not quite able to hold on. He’s so _beautiful_ , unraveling yet still clinging to control and to her. In a desperate move to hurry her along, his hands slide from restraining her wrists to the blonde waves of her hair, knitting deep into her locks and engaging a firm tug. The sensation is sharp, tingling and glorious for that split second. Her whole body is vulnerable. She’s so vulnerable and safe and strong and _coming_ , tightening around him as waves of gratitude and passion reverberate through her bones. She cries his name in ecstasy, his cock steadily meeting that spot that drives her wild. Once he’s spent, steady inside of her, she still doesn’t move her hands.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispers, kissing her as his arms prepare a warm embrace for them to fall into.

“I know,” she sighs, sated and happy and stroking his chest. There are other things she wants to tell him, important things, potentially life-changing things for both of them. But this seems more important right now. Soon enough, their breaths even out as they both reclaim the slumber that was so cruelly stolen from them.

 

* * *

 

Everything’s stiff and unnecessarily stark in juvenile hall. The lights are cheap, the uniforms cheaper. A pale gray scratchy shirt and sweatpants are in every way the least fitting thing he could possibly wear. They all look the _same_. But he’s held his dignity to a higher standard, endearing himself to the warden as not so much a snitch as a tactician. He can read people. Knows who needs to be put back in line, who’s sneaking in contraband and with whom. Some of it he keeps to himself for a rainy day. He may need to use these people and not _just_ the warden. One he needs to clear his record, the others he may need for what he has planned _afterwards_. Besides, he can’t endear himself _too_ much to the warden, because he does want to part with him sooner rather than later. He doesn’t _belong_ here.

“Visitor,” one of his personal guards informs him, leading the way down the hall.

There have already been some curious journalists, ready to plea his case after his tearful testimonies. The reminder of his verdict still leaves a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth. Unsurprisingly _no one_ from his Riverdale acquaintance has appeared. Still, if he’s acquitted later this stint may provide him with an edge politically. An innocent young man rising up in the face of adversity, doubt, heartbreak, betrayal, and his father’s suicide. It all paints a rather nice narrative. The only piece that doesn’t fit is Betty.

Where…how is _that_ forgiveness piece supposed to go?

Even the thought of her tightens his fist, heat licking his throat. He passes the rows of booths, slowing in mild surprise when a middle-aged man with a square face and wry pale green eyes awaits him.

Hal Cooper nods subtly, gesturing to the vacant chair in front of him.

“Mr. Cooper?”

“Hello, son.”

The endearment strikes him as _irregular_ , especially considering the circumstances. Lucas lowers himself into the chair, back straight in case he has to bolt or defend himself.

“I won’t bother asking you the details of _how you are_ or what you’ve been doing to keep yourself sharp. I can imagine,” Hal says, hands folded neatly on the table, readjusting as if there’s an invisible beat he’s tapping to. “A boy like you, Lucas, reminds me a lot of myself, a lot of Alice at your age. We had ambitions. That’s why we liked you so much.”

Unsure where he’s going, Lucas makes note of the nearest guards just in case he needs them.

“This business with Betty…” Hal shakes his head, looking down at the table. “It threw us all off track. We had plans for you. Both of you.”

It’s not like he _planned_ on _this_ , Lucas glowers. Did Hal come here just to chastise him? The never-ending dreariness of his peers here is punishment enough. Even the warden doesn’t know how to challenge him. He could escape, but it’d be much more fulfilling to have a _clean_ record and recommendations when he gets out. The blackmail portfolio he’s building has been quite useful in here. Maybe he should _thank_ Betty when she gets out for sharpening his arsenal in a whole new way.

But no.

His thanks would be much better met with a gag and chain, and maybe his hands around her pretty neck. The fantasies he’s had of her have been much _darker_ as of late. Less about an orgasm and more about vindication. Her teary face begging him for forgiveness on television, his gracious acceptance and appearance of moving on. Then maybe she’d find him at his hotel where she’d plead in the private darkness of night, tears streaming down her face, for him to shove his cock down her lying little throat, his come sticking like a cough she can never rid herself of.

The reminder of that exquisite fantasy sends a shiver down his spine. But this doesn’t happen often, so he attempts to refocus on what Mr. Cooper is saying.

“So I just want you to know that things are going to be quiet on our end for a while. We recommend you do the same. Alice and I don’t think a book deal will serve you as well as what I have planned when you get out.”

“And what, pray tell, is that?”

“A cleansing,” Hal says, the same smile from the mantle gracing his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't panic! Lucas will still serve his time for doing them crimes. That dream sequence? Almost a real thing (sorry if I scared you). But I like him right where he is, and so does his secretly evil almost dad-in-law. You think Hal would kill him or take him under his wing as a ruthless journalist/potential serial killer? I think Hal would be happy either way. On one hand, avenge his baby, on the other, new friend who understands! Huzzah!
> 
> Also I realize almost half this chapter was smut but it also had character development, right? Sooooo hope you enjoyed *cough*
> 
> Mini-spoiler: BETTY IS NOT PREGNANT. I REPEAT! NOT PREGGO. Like the Coopers need any more life-altering drama in that vein. No. But there are some vaguely good opportunities for Bughead's lives to improve. I almost included it in this chapter but it was getting so long T-T We may not have many more chapters left. Maybe one or two? I feel like every chapter I say that. I know you'll miss these crazy kids like I will <3 Mostly we gotta screw down what it means to be with Jughead as the Serpent Prince besides a fancy leather jacket and bike-riding privileges. What do you think this Betty'll think of his gangsta life? I mean, he mostly works at the drive-in so I feel like she hasn't seen any of that stuff. Someone get this girl a leather jacket and a hug and better parents. Thank you.
> 
> As always, your thoughts are golden inspiration of sunshine and rainbows so I hope to hear from you <3 Betty is getting outta the nightmare mode slowly but surely and Juggie will too. Now hopefully this early darkness will stop sapping my energy so I can get these out to y'all faster!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 13 Chapters! I didn't plan it that way but what a world, right? A lucky number for a lucky couple. I love these characters and it's emotional to watch them grow up even in a story T-T Oh our shipping hearts. Let's do this.

“Hey, Jug?”

“Hm?” he murmurs, fingers lazily tracing her shoulder up into the sleeve of her shirt.

“How would you feel about renting the Ward house?”

His laughter isn’t exactly encouraging. She bites her lip and looks up, waiting for another opening. They’re supposed to be taking a nap after muddying about the nearby river, but Archie’s practicing a song to regale Veronica with next weekend, which makes sleep pretty much impossible.

“Wait, are you serious?” he asks, shifting so he can see her face better. 

“Well, yeah.”

Bewildered, he frowns. “What—I mean, I’d have to ask my dad, but aren’t _you_ supposed to live there?”

“I _could_ …”

“So…what are you saying?”

He probably thinks she’s trying to make a quick buck or move in with him, which would be _nice_ , but not the point. Shifting onto her elbows, she tries to ignore the way her heart swells even just with a new angle of his attention. “I’m saying I’ve been thinking about our future a lot lately, and even though it may sound crazy, I keep thinking of college.”

Curling, questioning eyebrows dance above his confusion. It almost makes her want to smile, to touch them and see if they wriggle. This is supposed to be serious, though, so she bits on her smile and tries to stay focused.

“I don’t really _know_ your plans post-high school, and I know it’s kind of presumptuous to assume we’d still be together—“ he interrupts the idea with a scoff, a flash of glee shooting in her gut that it’s _obvious_ to him they will be, “But I was kind of hoping we’d go somewhere together or nearby. I know you’re smart. I know you can handle college but I’m not sure how…everything else fits into that. If you move to the north side of town,” her fingers trace the S on his shirt, afraid to look him in the eyes. He’s already endured so much. She hopes this isn’t asking too much of him.

“If I moved?” he repeats, eyebrow arching.

“You’d be able to go to Riverdale High. And while yes, it would be great that we’d go to the same school, you’d also have a better chance of…you know. School-sanctioned after-school programs. And if you wanted your friends to rent with you, or maybe…I don’t know,” she huffs, chin dropping to his chest. “Maybe we could try living together.”

“Hey,” he says, tugging gently at her until she looks him in the eye. She’s not supposed to hide anymore. “First of all, we are _definitely_ going to be together in two years, right?”

A surge of excitement at the prospect makes her nod, bracing her smile against his shirt. His eyes light up, flickering down to her lips like he wants to see them, so she raises her chin just enough.

His chest inflates with pride, his arms scooting her up closer with him. “And as far as college, it’s not like the Serpents have scholarships for community service. Nor do either of us have a ton of money laying about, obscure inheritances notwithstanding.” Even though his bluntness makes her laugh, it sort of stings. Mr. Ward’s money is…she’s still not sure how to feel about it. Besides, do Serpents go to college? Did FP ever save anything for him? Her parents are _awful_ but they did care about her education.

The arm he’s using as a pillow props him up higher. “I’ve thought about living with you, obviously. I don’t have a timeline, but I’ve thought about it. And college. Maybe a writing program. Pre-law. We all know the south side could use an affordable lawyer.”

He’d give up his dreams of writing to take care of his family here? He…he _is_ good. But maybe that’s not the right course of action. Or maybe it is. She really isn’t as sure of her judgment as of late.

“So you’d want to come back to Riverdale?” she asks, feeling her chest hollow out.

“Yeah, maybe. What about you? Where do you see us in seven years?”

The optimistic certainty with which he’s pushing their futures isn’t lost on her. “I don’t know. I used to always think I’d come back and run the Register with my family, but now…” she swirls smaller designs on the bare skin just under the hem of his shirt. He grabs her hand and interweaves their fingers to pause the tickling sensation, waiting for the rest of her fantasy.

“It feels like that life would be all about covering up and exposing dirty little secrets. Pretending to be someone I’m not to serve some fantasy of success. I just want something real, Jug.” She tilts her cheek onto his chest, daring to look up into the slowly rippling reflection of the future looking back at her. “I see something real with you. Whether we’re in a trailer, or on the back of your bike, or even bumming out on the beach, I see a typewriter and a laptop and coffee and tea. I can see us laughing with Archie, or listening to his songs via Skype because he’s on tour with a band.”

His laughter rumbles low under her, almost making her want to put her head down and listen to his gut to see how deep it goes. “I’m sure Archie appreciates your optimism.”

“But that’s what I see,” she insists. The past few weeks have really helped her to live in the present instead of be hyper-focused on the future. That’s has been engrained in her for years. To strive. To bend. To perfect. Now, she can just _be_ , even if she can’t quite suppress an overeager surge of desire to know what could be next. To know what to work towards.

“So that’s in the future?” Jughead’s smirk tempts her with another kiss, but she can wait.

“I don’t know, really. I know we can’t stay in the Ward house forever. We probably shouldn’t even stay there for more than a year or two, move out and find an apartment by college after that. We’re still teenagers, Jughead. Even though it feels like this town is _everything_ …we have the whole rest of our lives to figure it out. I just want…I want that _option_ with you.”

“Our whole lives?” he grins, thumb tracing gently on the underside of her wrist.

A warmth blooms on her cheeks, spreading lower as she sinks into his embrace. “Well…yeah. If we want.”

She’s hyper-aware of the way her hair brushes softly on her back and falls onto its arm, like its writing a tender story in their DNA. They meet each other halfway, catching each other in a kiss that stretches down to her bones.

“I want.”

 

* * *

 

FP looks bemused, scanning the pristine living room while Betty wrings her hands in the open-concept kitchen.

“So? What do you think?”

Jughead attempts to bite down a smirk, sliding his hand across Betty’s back and tugging on her belt loop to keep her from going full doe-eyes on his dad.

“I think it’s great. Large. Kinda reminds me of what we had before…” FP trails off, clearing his throat and pulling up the back of his jeans. “When Jug was a kid. A little more modern, but…”

“So you’ll stay?”

Apparently there’s no tempering Betty’s big-eyed entreaties. Even his father isn’t immune, and physically seems a little bowled over by her earnestness.

“I, uh, you’re asking a lot, kid.”

Stricken, she straightens. “Am I? I thought—from talking to Jug—“

“Not monetarily. This place is a steal,” FP laughs. “You’re just asking a lot of the Serpents.”

It’s alarming how suddenly Betty deflates into Jughead’s side, face falling as she tries to puzzle out where she went wrong. Jughead shoots his dad a look. 

Mouth tugging down at the side, FP avoids looking at the withering blonde in his son’s arms. “I know Jug wants to go to college, but he’s kinda the Serpents heir apparent. He’s old enough to be making a few of his own decisions, but we _will_ be missed on the Southside. _I’ll_ be missed. This address is more than a school system, it’s a change in society. We can’t just _leave_ them to fend for themselves or to keep guard over this place. What if the Serpents need us?”

“We’d be like, fifteen minutes away,” Jughead protests.

“That could mean the difference between life and death if a Ghoulie raid happens, kid. What do you think people are gonna say when they see we’ve got this nice big house because we sent your girlfriend’s ex to jail?”

Betty flinches at the memory, her nails tightening in response. Alarmed, Jughead threads his fingers quickly through hers to minimize the damage.

“Not to mention this setup is probably not gonna be permanent. That kid tried to burn our trailer when you were just _friends_ with her. What’s he gonna do when he gets outta juvie and we’re living in his house and you’re—“ he makes a vague gesture with his hands that jilts Jughead down to the bone, “ _dating_ her?”

“This is _my_ house,” Betty declares, fire reignited. His adoration is only mildly tempered by a worry that she might lash out. “I get to choose what I do with it, and with whom.”

“So why not sell it?” FP asks.

“Because technically, I’m not 18, and with the recent influx of kidnappings in Riverdale I’m not quite sure who’d want to buy it. I have to rent.”

Looking uncomfortable, FP glances out the window like he’s searching for an escape. “But I thought Alice—“

“Sold me out for my abusive ex. Even if she is trying to make amends, it’s not like we’re all playing happy family. My sister’s in some cult, my dad’s self-medicating, I tried to get emancipated, and my mom’s a control freak, not unlike the guy who tried to kill your son.” Incensed, Betty lets that sit for a second. “I would never—I’m not asking you or Jug to give up the Serpents, I’m just asking you to consider the possibility of making a home here. If that isn’t right for you, then I get that. I can rent it someone else. But when something _potentially_ good came into my life, I wanted to figure out a way to share it with—“ she glances at Jughead, a sharp tug of gratitude lurching in his chest, “The people I care about.”

The three of them stand in the kitchen staring at each other’s feet, waiting for someone to speak first.

“I’m open to suggestions,” Betty finally accedes, crossing and uncrossing her arms before finally settling on wrapping her arms around Jughead’s midsection.

“I think I need to talk to Jughead alone on this one.”

Even though he’s right, they _do_ need to talk, Jughead can’t help the way his hand immediately clamps down on Betty’s shoulder so she doesn’t leave his side.

“It’s okay, Jug. I get it. It’s a lot to process.”

Slowly disentangling, Betty allows him a parting kiss on the cheek before excusing herself outside. It’s kind of odd she doesn’t go in any of the rooms, but maybe just getting some fresh air helps.

“So, kid. What do you think?”

It’s easy and impossible all at the same time. “I want to be with Betty.”

“Yeah, I get that. But how? Southside? Northside? Are her parents even going to let her stay here? Have either of you really thought about this?”

“ _Yes,_ ” he nearly hisses, swiping a hand through his hair. Go figure his dad would take something like a _house_ and turn it into a problem.

“Okay. What about your friends? What about the Coopers and Keller and Mayor McCoy? You think they’re just gonna roll over and let the Serpent King and Prince take up one of the nicest houses on the block? I don’t think so, kid.”

“It’s not _about_ being a Serpent! It’s about having a future!”

“You have one, Jughead, and you’re wearing it on your back! Now I don’t care if you bring Betty into the fold and you wanna write poetry and gaze into each other’s eyes all day, but you have to face the facts. We don’t have the money nor the influence to make this work. So unless your girlfriend is also going to start a charity or you somehow get a full ride, we’re stuck here. You want to have her sleep over on occasion? Fine. I can stay at the Wyrm once or twice a week. But this…” he gestures to the grand white walls around them. “ _This_ is a fantasy.”

It’s not. He knows it’s not.

It seems like such a simple reality.

 

* * *

 

Biting her lip, Betty stares at the screen, rereading the documents for the thousandth time. “So? What do you think?”

“I think this is inspirational, B! Ah! Oh my god but what about the name? Beronica House? The Vetty Institution of Wellness?” Veronica gasps, eyes going wide and excited. “They could call it The Vet!”

“You…are incredible,” Betty laughs. There’s something about talking with Veronica that bring a lightness to heavy situations. No problem is too big, no solution too small. Not that anything Veronica would be involved in could be considered _small_ , but still. Everything feels a little bit brighter, extremely manageable even in the face of impossibility.

“So, you’re coming up with Archiekins this weekend. We’ll dot the i’s and cross the t’s.”

“I’d love to, but I think Archie’d be heartbroken if I infringed on your time.”

“Trust me, he’ll need rest once I’m through with him.”

Unsure whether to be impressed or horrified, Betty tries to cough over a disbelieving laugh. Veronica’s…something else. Definitely a force of nature. She’s turned out to be a sister, an avenging angel, and a great friend. “I’ll tell you what. You two have your date night on Friday and then we can do Saturday brunch, assuming you’ll be up for it.”

“Of course. I have impeccable stamina,” she flourishes, soft dark hair flipped over one shoulder. “I can take you out and show you the town! We can even double if you want to bring dreamboat up here. We have an extra guest room. I’m sure I can procure a date for Kevin too, if he’s so inclined.”

“I think that would be a _lot_ of energy, and Kevin kinda already has a man,” Betty laughs, “But I’ll see what I can do. As it is, I better get ready for dinner. I’m just…thank you. I needed that reassurance.”

“My pleasure, B. I have to say, these random acts of heroism have felt rather transformative lately. Empowering.” She tilts her jaw, catching the light in a very striking way. Betty wonders if she’s ever actually modeled. It wouldn’t surprise her if she did. “It’s like we were always meant to be.”

Maybe they are. Maybe everything is. But Betty refuses to believe that _fate_ placed her with an abusive boyfriend and a toxic family just so she could meet people who are good. Things _happen,_ with or without a divine reason. It’s just a matter of what she’s going to do now that they have.

 

“Elizabeth! We were just getting started.” Her mother’s sharp smile makes Betty’s cheeks curl at the ready. This might be a battle. Thankfully, it’s one that she feels prepared to face. Betty helps set the table, eyeing the relatively small portion size of steak, potatoes, and vegetables her mother sets on her plate. “So…now that things have settled down a bit more, I assume you’re going to stay here?”

Carefully, she chews and swallows a bit of cooked carrot that’s been sitting in juices. It’s savory and sweet and feels the slightest bit like tangy victory. “I’m not sure. I’ve taken on a new project. For the Ward house.”

“Oh? A house is a big responsibility for a teenager.” Knife sawing, Alice raises an eyebrow at her husband. “What are your plans?”

“I’m going to make it a Wellness Center.” 

Her parents exchange a glance, clearly unfamiliar with the idea or simply unaffected by it. The consistency of clinking silverware and glasses keeps Betty focused.

“So, forgive me for asking, but what exactly do you hope to achieve with a wellness center?” Her mother treads carefully, maintaining a certain nonchalance that might be more convincing if she was actually eating the food in front of her instead of carving it into infinitely smaller pieces.

“Heal people. This town. Myself. I figure Polly is 18 now. She can manage it. Apparently the farm she’s at has taught her a lot about self-awareness and she’s been taking some classes online. Fred’s already pledged to help, give people minor construction jobs if they need something to do with their hands. Home renovation projects, gardening. We might even do music therapy if there’s enough interest. We’re interviewing therapists and doctors based on some recommendations so we should have some really good resources. I’m really hoping that it will make a difference.”

“And who exactly do you think will sign up for these services and kumbayas?”

Swallowing carefully, Betty sets down her glass.

“I’ve talked to Jug and he thinks his dad might be willing to get treatment.”

Alice practically spits across the table in shock. “You are _not_ engaging in business with the Serpents. They’ll be peddling drugs and laundering money like it’s their own personal White Wyrm!”

“He’s not _running_ the place. FP has a chance to get _better_ , Mom, and not just him. Any Serpent. Any Riverdale resident can apply for treatment. There are rooms for people to stay who may not be able to do things on their own. Polly will be there, she’ll have a real job and she won’t be peddling drugs or laundering money. She’ll be _home_. She’ll _have_ a home. And Jughead is amazing, his friends—”

Mouth opening in abhorrence, Alice doesn’t even notice the juice leaking from the meat on her plate. “I can’t _believe_ how disrespectful you’re being. Moving Polly without discussing it first? Like she knows how to run a business, let alone keep her own life in order? All she knows is how to brew herbal teas and do…yoga meditation while sewing seeds. Letting _those_ people into the _Ward_ house? I thought you were better than that, Betty. Smarter than that.”

“I’m _helping_ people!”

Hal splays one hand on the table like he’s trying to hold onto it. “Not the right _kind_ of people, Betty. Some people can’t be helped. The darkness is in their blood. You’re still our daughter and you live by our rules.”

Something pebble-like rattles through her veins, pushed out through her bloodstream. She will _not_ curl her fists. “I will _always_ be your daughter, but that doesn’t give you the right to dictate how to live my life. Just because I’m your child does _not_ make me your property. If I’m going to stay in this house until I’m 18, _like you’re insisting_ , I want to live under it without the constant threat of being undermined and punished.” A Cooper eye-roll is impending. She _hates_ it when they don’t take her seriously, that they think it’s _unreasonable_ not to undermine someone. “Otherwise why not just run away like Polly did? You pushed her out for wanting something different, and clearly you still haven’t welcomed her back. Or is this all about the image of the perfect family? If _two_ daughters run out on you it might look pretty fishy, right?”

Her father purses his lips like he’s contemplating between downing another glass or reaming her out. “We are your parents! You expect us to just turn a blind eye to the fact that you’re throwing your life away on a Serpent and a fool’s errand?”

“Throwing my life away?” she laughs, disbelieving. “I _love_ Jughead, and in case you haven’t noticed, _his_ love doesn’t come with strings attached. My previous boyfriend, whom you approved of by the way, _literally tried to kill people_ when things didn’t go his way, and probably would’ve done the same to me.” Her parents cross their arms, leaning back in their chairs. At least they’re _sort of_ listening. Betty points at the table for emphasis, like her plan is laid on the cloth below. “This project is actually going to _help_ people and bring the community _together_. When is the last time anything you’ve done could be construed as sympathetic?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Alice scoffs. “We volunteer.”

“For the _Register,_ which is about as self-serving as it gets.”

Exasperated, Alice sighs towards the ceiling. “Well gee, Betty, I’m sorry we don’t live up to your altruistic expectations. We just want what’s best for our family and the well-being of the community.”

“Have you even _been_ to the ‘farm’ Polly’s staying at? God, it’s like you don’t even care!”

“We care, Elizabeth!” Alice protests, rising out of her seat. “That’s why we’re trying to help you, even though you _clearly_ don’t want it. You’ve trash-talked us in court and I have no reason to believe you won’t do it in person. But we are here, we _want_ you home so we can straighten this out because you’re our daughter and we want what’s best for you. Polly too! You’re so young, you can’t see the risks!”

“It’s my choice now, what I risk and for whom!”

“Not in this house.”

“Then I won’t stay.” Betty slides the chair back, rising up without use of her hands.

Startled Alice, takes a step around the table. “Oh yes you do. You’re still a minor. You _have_ to stay in this house. The only reason you haven’t been dragged here kicking and screaming is because we didn’t want to upset you so soon after the trial. You are legally obligated to stay in our house and obey our rules.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are! You legally need to be staying with a guardian! Even if you would prefer to live in the _system_ , we’d need to agree to give you up or be declared unfit, _which we aren’t._ That should tell you something!” Alice throws her hands up in the air, like she’s tried everything else. “Do you want us chasing you down every night? Sirens blaring, just like they will be if you stay with your miscreant?”

“If that’s the way it has to be,” Betty shrugs, already toeing on her shoes.

“Now just—now wait just a minute. You can’t just go storming into the night ever time you have a—“

“Every time I have a thought? Or I want to fight for some amount of happiness? Well let me leave with you some advice: _Stop_ fighting it. Or I will _never_ stop fighting _you_.” Betty slams the door behind her so hard that the house frame shakes. It’s never been as sturdy as they want the world to think. And she’s so much stronger than anyone could’ve had her believe.

 

* * *

 

 

It should be embarrassing how much just the sight of a blonde ponytail makes Jughead’s heart soar. He straightens, dragging his hands out of his pockets and tuning out Sweet Pea’s rambling as he trots over to her.

“I think this is the first time I’ve seen him run,” Sweet Pea mutters to a smiling Fangs, who chides to leave him alone. At least _someone_ will let him be a giant sap. Archie tolerates Betty and Jughead holding each other, but any time they gaze at each other he mutters a “ _wow, do you have to?_ ” like they third-wheel him on purpose. It’s just so easy to get lost in her sometimes.

The way Betty lights up when she sees him fills his lungs with something that feels even better than air, spurring him to move faster. Her hands go high, his go low in the familiar dance of sweeping each other off their feet. The stress of school, of deliveries, of _everything_ just melts away.

“What are you doing here?”

“Avoiding my house, as always.” The glint in her eye tells him otherwise.

“Are you sure you didn’t just miss me?” he dares to ask, nose dipping to caress hers.

“ _May_ be.”

“Jug, are we going to the Wyrm or are you gonna sit there making goo-goo eyes at each other all night?”

“Yeah, in a sec. Maybe.” He regards Betty seriously, his hands happily grounded on her hips. “What are we doing tonight?”

She smiles good-naturedly, leaning back as if she’s about to disengage. “I didn’t mean to drag you away from your night. Go with your friends. I’ll be fine. I just need a good long kiss and I’ll probably be good until tomorrow. My parents have sort of been coming around so you might even be able to stop by. Sneak through the window, tell me how your night went.”

“Or—“ he protests, hoping his kisses are half as convincing as hers. “You can come with.”

Mouth slanting, she glances over his shoulder. “Are you sure? They seem kinda like…they want a guys’ night.”

“Toni’s not a guy. She’ll be there.”

“But she’s also a Serpent. At a Serpent bar, which happens to be where you’re going.”

“Please, Betts? I want you to get to know my friends. I feel like the only time you’ve really seen the Serpents is…”

“In court? Or that one fated lunch at Southside?” she finishes, filling out the pothole in his train of thought. They hadn’t exactly had a great conversation about the gang back then. As if sensing his tension, she touches his jaw and softens her own expression. “If you think we’re ready, let’s do this.”

 

It’s nothing short of a _high_ when he walks into the Wyrm with Betty at his arm. She does her best to keep her curiosity in check, even though she does crane her neck at the snake cage by the bar.

“Does it have a name?”

“Thought she’d have named it for you by now, Jones,” Sweet Pea cards, shoving past him to the pool table.

He’s going to have to kick his friend’s ass. Betty’s never going to want to hang out if all these guys do is talk about sex, violence, and video games. As if sensing the impending bro-off, Betty puts a hand on his chest, warmth spreading through his torso and calming the acid bubbling in his gut. _I don’t want to cause a fight_ , her little head shake says.

_Fine_ , his sigh replies. “Wanna play against Pea, Betty? You and me? The un _stoppable_ duo?”

“Maybe Fangs and I ought to pair this first round, seeing as Sweet Pea has such an interest in your stick,” she offers, his friends turning bright red before bursting into laughter.

“In that case maybe you should pair with Toni,” Fangs snickers.

“Oh, you’ll do.” Pressing a firm kiss to Jughead’s lips, Betty slides her way along the sticky varnished pool table like she doesn’t need to be anywhere else. Like she belongs, even without the leather jacket. If only he’d been able to see this years ago, he might’ve realized there’s really not so much keeping them apart. A town line? Socio-economics? Inconsequential. Especially considering how inevitable they seem now that they’re together.

“Can you stop staring at her ass for a minute and break?”

The smoothed-down wood in his hands feels good, solid. “Did you pull this one out of your ass, Pea?”

“Aren’t you the one who put it there?”

Betty and Fangs lean close as if conspiring. “Should I be jealous?”

“It’s mostly harmless.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Pea protests, tossing balls at them to rally. This isn’t exactly the kind of riffing Jughead does with Archie, and he glances at Betty just to make sure the slightly _rougher-edged_ fun isn’t turning her off. So far, so good.

The night wears on amidst root beers and smiles, balls and bottles clinking (root beer or soda for the underaged), laughter echoing through the bar. A fist pounds on wood, knuckles still crusty with blood from some adventure or another.

“Yo Jones, you still going to do rounds with me on Sunday?”

Betty kisses Jughead’s cheek, wandering off on her own, probably to chat with Toni. For the first time in a while, he doesn’t feel the uncontrollable urge to follow her and make sure she’s okay.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” he calls back, distracted by a big hand on his shoulder leading him to a game of darts. Some of the older guys rally around. Their lips are wet with the latest poison, laughs dry with mirth.

“Hey Jones, cute girl you have there.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile so much.”

“Yeah. She’s something,” he grins, absently prying his fingernail up with the sharp edge of a dart.

Part of him still feels tense, waiting for his dad to come walking through the doors and demand a whiskey or a beer despite agreeing to consider the wellness program. But he doesn’t.

Betty takes out her elastic, the ridge in her hair left from its binding accenting her luscious nature. Guys approach her at the bar, and she’s polite but clearly gestures “I’m with him,” giving Jughead the ample opportunity to wave and boast about her from afar. It’s not like he wants her to be bored or friendless, pushing away every guy. Still, he doesn’t want to leave her alone for too long, and starts to hand off a dart when someone grabs his wrist.

“You know Mustang gets out on the 13th. You gonna be at the welcome-to-the-outside party?”

“I, uh, I think so,” he manages, glancing back at Betty, who’s sitting up straight on the stool like it’s hurting her back. Joaquin recognizes her, sliding into the stool and striking up a quiet, casual conversation.

“You bringing your girl?”

“I sure as hell hope so.”

A hollow cork pierced by metal signals the last dart, the victory. Jughead’s eager to celebrate, even if it’s over something as silly as tossing a pronged arrow at a board. Betty’s migrated to the snake cage, staring it down with a vacant question he doesn’t quite understand.

She doesn’t even stir when he sidles up beside her. “Careful. You don’t want to be around that thing when it’s feeding time.” Betty turns and feigns a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, exhaustion weighing her cheeks down. “You want to go home?”

“Oh no, I’m—“ But she cuts herself off, biting her lips in a mild nod. It’s still bizarre to him that she feels embarrassed about exhaustion or just not being in the mood for socializing. She’s a great date in sweatpants or fancy dress, high energy or low.

“Come on, I’ll give you a ride.” He presses a kiss to the crown of her head and leads her out of the bar. One day he’ll be able to say they’ll go home _together_ maybe, for real. Squeezing her fingers, he relishes the feeling of her climbing onto his bike, the snap of her helmet, the tightness of her arms around his waist. Wind at their front pushes them closer together. It’s a few minutes into their ride before he realizes he doesn’t know where to take her.

 

The trailer door rattles at an intrusion. “FP Jones you open this goddamn door _right_ now or I’ll—“

Jughead misses the rest of the sentence, partially obscured by the jangling door chain and hurried footsteps.

“Where is he?”

“Calm down, Alice. She’s not—“

“I’m not taking your word for it, FP. I need to know where my daughter is. She needs to be safe, and I mean it! God knows you can’t be trusted to even keep condoms in this godforsaken place.”

“Holy shit,” Jughead mutters, thankful he’s still vaguely presentable from earlier tonight. Frantic movements outside his door force him to his feet, aware that FP can only keep an incensed Alice at bay for so long before she’ll claim battery or kidnapping charges. “She’s not _here_ ,” Jughead snaps, shoving open the door wide enough so they can see a sad, empty mattress. “I dropped her off at your house an hour ago.”

“Then why isn’t she _there_?” Alice snaps, icy gaze made harsher by the liner streaked like she’d done it on the car ride over.

“Hell if I know! The better question might be why don’t you treat like her a person instead of a prisoner in her own home? Maybe then she’d stop sneaking out. You have _no_ right to barge into my home—”

“Oh, please. I have _made_ compromises. We all know she’s trying to drag you out of this hellhole, and that’s the first place she’d be.” FP seems unfazed by Alice’s accusations, content to stand back and let her tear through the place. She doesn’t even hear or feel his protests about entering his room, checking the heap of laundry in his poor excuse of a closet and behind the door like she knows all the hiding places. It’s sort of unnerving, because Betty certainly never had to hide Lucas, so what the hell were Polly or Alice doing in their youth?

The suspicion leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “Satisfied?”

“Not even _close_. Call her. Where is she?”

“I would never betray Betty. Especially not to you.”

Hair falling into her face, Alice lurches for his shoulders. He _hates_ the pressure of those claws, the ones that could’ve helped Betty and hurt her instead. Jerking hard enough to throw her off-balance, Jughead snaps out of her grasp.

“Jughead,” she pleads. “You don’t know what it’s like not knowing if she’s all right.”

His jaw throbs with rage. “Yes. I _fucking_ do.” The faded scar on his arm is a badge that was earned in more pain than the Serpents initiation. The emotional wreckage was worse than the bullet in most ways.

The adults in the room move towards one another, FP’s hand finding purchase on her lower back. “Alice, we’ll make sure Betty’s set up for the night. Leave the kids alone. They’ve been through a lot and probably just want some rest. You know Jug’s not gonna let anything happen to her.”

“That’s not enough, FP. We had our struggles, but we never…” Alice gasps in an attempt to breathe. Her mascara’s smeared, stark and garish on her cheeks. “We never ran away. Not like this.”

But Jughead bets they wish they did. Sometimes, looking at scenes like this, he wonders why Betty and him don’t just hop on his motorcycle and ride away. As much as he wants to believe the wellness center can help their problematic parents (and possibly their lives), he’s got a bad feeling that they’d actually have to want to change…and maybe…maybe they don’t.

But they will. They have to.

His dad edges Alice out the door, the Serpents jacket shifting on its peg.

 

* * *

 

A distant humming makes Betty dig her nails in. One lone beam cuts across the night mist instead of two. She tries to take a deep breath, inhaling not-so-distant Sweetwater fog and willing the stars to brighten above. They flicker uncertainly, gravel crunching in familiar steps.

“Come here often?”

Even now, when she’s wide awake and practically in a trance, she’s subconsciously left room for him beside her. Or maybe there just _is_ room for him. In her heart, in her life. In this _mess_.

He’s in his jeans, leather, and combat boots. Not the soft jacket she’d rested her face on during _Psycho._ He drops a backpack to the side of her blanket square on the lawn of the Twilight and nestles in next to her. The warmth immediately comforts her, relaxes some of the tension in her joints.

“What happened this time?”

This isn’t _hiding_. She doesn’t want to do that. It’s just…she’s only had a few hours to think about things, to mull them over the way her parents consider wine.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he promises, pressing a kiss to her hair.

She nuzzles her nose into the softness of his shirt instead of the cool leather of his jacket, adjusting until she can hear his heartbeat. “I love you.” A hand warms her shoulder, rubbing in small circles.

They mull for a few more minutes, idly chatting about the stars. But she knows he’s waiting, so she might as well be honest with him. “Jug, I…after tonight…I realized that there are some things I didn’t consider. That _we_ didn’t…talk about.”

His chin draws down to a frown. “Like what?”

“I…now keep in mind this doesn’t change anything,” she insists, fist curling into his jacket. The tension works her up, so she forces herself to spread her palm flat on his chest, his own hand coming up to cover it. “It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Eyes shining with worry, his lip quivers. “Okay…”

There’s just no getting around it. She inhales deeply, fully aware that this may break his heart a little bit. “Jug…do the Serpents _hurt_ people?”

Lips parted, he stares.

Ducking her head, she tries again, steeling against the conflicted stars reflected in his eyes. “I know they hurt Lucas. I know that you guys do what you have to to survive against the Ghoulies. But like…do you _hurt_ people? Do you torture them? What exactly does a biker gang do? Are there hard drugs? Weapons? Exactly what kind of deliveries are you _doing_?” 

Maybe she’s going too fast, asking too much, but he’s clearly _processing_ every question. He’s just not sure what answer to give. Which one she wants. Which one hurts the least.

“Juggie,” she swallows, almost still able to feel the tacky texture of the bar as she shifts to face him more fully. “What happens if you do something against the law and…”

“Betty…” His hand shoots out to comfort her.

“What happens if they catch you? What happens if they throw you in the same juvie as Lucas? What happens to you, to college, to the rest of our lives? I just…I can’t…I don’t want to imagine a future without you in it."

"Me neither, Betty." He cups her cheek, so sincere, so  _loving_ , but she still can't quell the overwhelming feeling that this dome is closing in on the town.

"But am I being naive? Am I building up an entire fantasy when the reality is that you'll be in danger and I can't do anything about it?”

“Hey,” he insists, grip firm around her wrist. “We are not _dreaming_. I'm not in danger. We’re going to live long and happy lives, okay? We're not trapped by our past or our ties to this town.”

“But you were already talking about coming back, and I guess…I know what shared memories we have as kids, Jug, and I met some of your friends, but what would we be coming back _to_?”

Her throat feels dry, sticky. She feels _mean_ …uncharitable, even. These people helped her subdue someone they’d never met. Probably more for Jughead and revenge than for her, but still. Jughead’s family will be hers someday, the way they’re talking about things, and she  _wants_ to love them. She got along with them at the bar, despite their very different mannerisms. She's all about the beast within, so that part doesn't scare her. She admires that they protect each other. A strong sense of community. But rules? Punishments? Drop-offs? _Scars_?

The idea of giving up one set of expectations for another makes her sick.

Her loyalty is to her friends. To Archie, Jughead, Kevin, and Veronica. Most likely to Polly, assuming she’s still… _herself_.

But something keeps her from extending that loyalty. Maybe it's her own parents betrayal that still stings like the crescents on her palms.

After her parents protests, hearing that _Mustang will get out soon,_ seeing their scars…and the guys asking Jughead about a _run_ …

“I saw the blood under their fingernails.” The sharp glance he casts at her own isn’t lost on her. “It wasn’t dirt, Jug. I can’t—just don’t lie to me.”

Resentment coats over the words like a thick jelly, or maybe she's just so tired she's imagining things. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Betty. I never have.”

The sharpness _wounds_ her. “I know. I’m just…I can’t control anything and I’m so tired of being scared. Of losing control. Of pain. I don’t even know that this wellness center can help people,” she chokes, smoothing the hard lines of his jaw. “What if your dad…doesn’t even want this? What if none of the Serpents or the town do? What if I'm the only one who's willing to admit they're messed up? I mean, what if everything falls apart?” Blinking away her pain, it takes considerable effort not to put her cheek against his arm, hide her face.

“Look at me.” Her chin shifts to catch his hard expression. “We may be a little rough around the edges, but we’ll be okay.”

What does that _mean_?

His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to frown, his thumb catching her bottom lip.

“Betty, you put so much pressure on yourself. I’m here. I’m not going to juvie. In case you don’t remember, I’ve already been.”

In elementary school he'd been taken for a few days after playing with matches. This is different. There’s a manipulative guy in there who would want nothing more than to get his revenge.

“Hey. We’re getting better, right? The wellness center? Nobody can say what’s gonna happen there. But what _do_ we know, huh?” She shakes her head, not sure what he wants her to say. “Your sister is coming home. She’s coming _home,_ Betty. You’re not losing anybody, and you’re not doing this alone. There are doctors and therapists who are gonna finally come to this crazy town. Things might get _better_. Because of _you_. But in the off-chance they get worse it’s not going to be because of you or me. All that stuff is external, and it’s _not your responsibility._ The young Serpents don’t do any hard stuff so I’m not gonna get hauled off, and and you and I have always gone to different schools so even if that doesn’t work out, we’ll be fine. You’re not gonna lose me. You’re stuck with me for as long as we want, remember?” he teases, kissing her forehead with a warmth that lingers.

“I know.”

“Yeah?”

“I know,” she repeats firmly, her nerves smoothed to  _almost_ nothing. As she speaks, she shifts, throwing a leg over his hip and moving to an upright straddling position. “You're smart. And patient. And kind. And I have to trust that. I have to trust _us,_ even if everything else doesn't work out. I'm here for you, for everything Jug. If anything freaks you out, I want you to feel comfortable enough to tell me, I'm strong enough to be here for you too, even if it doesn't always seem like it.”

"You are here for me. You're the strongest person I've ever met."

He gazes up at her in something like quiet admiration, fingers warming her hips.

“Thank you. For listening to me. For helping me find that strength, and supporting me when it feels overwhelming. I love you, Jughead.” Her fingers trail down his chest, hips rocking gently for contact over his jeans.

With a conspiring smirk, Jughead's fingers sneak under the hem of her shirt. “I know I give inspirational speeches, but—“

She cuts his sass off with a very decided kiss, his eyes almost glistening black under the sky when she pulls away.

“I…still have the key to the projection booth. It might be a little more comfortable in there, if you want to…”

“Perfect.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jughead’s obviously been in groups of four before. Two on each side is the optimum ratio to fit _comfortably_ in Pop’s, but he’d always end up banging elbows with _some_ body or fighting over leg room. This double date scenario is actually kind of ideal. There is absolutely _no_ desire to be further away from Betty, who’s pressed flush against his side, leaning forward to laugh at Veronica’s flippant remark. He resists the urge to tug her back and lures her smiles in his direction with a sly remark of his own.

“Juggie,” she beams, and he’s extremely tempted to kiss her, damn the audience.

Needing a distraction, he turns to Archie, heart fluttering as she pulls his chin close to give him a peck on the cheek. “So, Archibald, how does it feel to be part of the music therapy sessions?”

“Amazing!” His grin practically lights up his face. Even Veronica seems bemused by the enthusiasm. “Josie and the Pussycats come in on occasion. She knows some stuff about…well…her dad, you know.” Never one to gossip, Archie shrugs a shoulder. “It’s been going really great. I’m just grateful that Ronnie’s been able to come down for the concert.”

With surprising reassurance, Veronica rubs Archie’s arm. “Aw, of course, Archiekins. I wouldn’t miss my favorite Riverdale pals and their big day.”

“Pals?” Jughead repeats dryly. He can feel Betty squeeze his thigh under the table and shifts, trying to bite his tongue. He was _there_  for the New York visits, and Archie and Veronica have been talking every single day. To be fair, Veronica also keeps up with Betty on a fairly regular basis. On more than one occasion her texts and phone calls have chirped during their intimate moments after he’s snuck up to Betty’s room for the night.

“Close pals,” Archie corrects, nudging Veronica with sincere affection.

Betty smiles warmly at her friends, squeezing Jughead’s waist. “The best.”

It’s all weirdly wholesome and nice, so he presses his lips to Betty’s forehead to savor the moment. “Shall we have another round?”

All calmness and curiosity, she studies him. “You think we can handle another milkshake?”

“I think we can handle anything.”

_ Especially together. _

A slow, knowing smile graces her face. “All right then. Another round.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My stomach was in knots finishing this chapter, so I hope it's satisfying. Thank you so much for sticking with me this long journey and seriously every comment is like a Bughead hug in my heart. I LOVE reading your thoughts so please do post them and you are more than welcome to tumble with me @lovedinapastlife where we can appreciate this couple together! Thanks to @jandjsalmon for talking me down from my contact-anxiety from Betty in this story :)
> 
> I know y'all would've loved to see the trip to New York but when I started writing that scene, it honestly didn't add much to the story besides show that Betty was feeling more confident and excited about the future. Also you almost got MORE smut but I figured implied was ok in this case since the chapter got a lot longer than anticipated. In case y'all don't remember some 100k-odd words ago, this particular section of the tale started in Pop's so I thought it was fitting to end there in a much better place emotionally for everyone ^-^
> 
> I left the ending open for a few reasons. The story definitely isn't over. That doesn't mean I'll be writing a sequel (even though I'd love to), it just means there's still a lot these characters are dealing with. Betty still needs lots of therapy, the Serpent business is fairly dangerous if not an immediate threat, Jughead's potentially changing schools and life trajectories (whilst trying not to propose and learning about very kinky sex haha), Archie and Veronica are trying to play it cool and do long-distance, Polly is not-quite Farm-recovered, FP's got one foot dangling off the wagon, Alice is struggling to change her own controlling tendencies, Hal is in some kinda cahoots with Lucas just biding their time for what will most likely involve the Ghoulies and Black Hood revenge, so...A LOT GOING ON. Another 100k worth probably XD That's a lot of energy I just don't have in me right now. But I love this story even when it gave me anxiety and hopefully it meant something to you as well. Thank you again for going on this journey with me and have a wonderful day!
> 
> Leave your thoughts in the boxes below as a parting gift and maybe I'll see you for the next story! 💛 💙


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